


Waves Hit My Head (Someone's In Your Bed)

by LaughingStones



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantasy Racism, First Time, Lots of Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Reunions, Supernatural Creatures, friend breakups, underage as in sixteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: In Deluxe, everyone knows humans are better than nonhumans, elves and wer and vamps and all the rest. Mike isn't human, but he's determined to be the best cadet in the whole Corps.Chuck isn't human either, and he's learned a lot working with the techs in R&D. He's not thrilled about Mike buying into Kane's propaganda about nonhumans. They're best friends, but friendship only goes so far before Chuck can't take it anymore.Until Mike needs help, and Chuck's the only one who can give it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Curlicuecal for the beta, and Splickedy and Roach for the encouragement!

Mike’s aware he's not totally human. Pure humans don't have pointed ears or slitted pupils that reflect green at night. He's not sure what he is, though, and he doesn't really care.

Chuck doesn't get it. “How can you stand not knowing?” he says, waving his hands around, and Mike just shrugs and grins. 

“If I didn't know what I was, it'd drive me crazy!” Chuck says.

Chuck remembers his parents, though, remembers where his nonhuman side came from. Mike doesn't remember his family. It's better not to think about it.

Chuck has pointed ears, too, and bright gold hair, and huge blue-green eyes, and a voice that he keeps in a low mumble or a high wavering squeak, because if he forgets himself and speaks the wrong way, it does something funny to people. Even adults get this blank, dazed look and just agree with whatever he says, and it takes a minute to wear off. He gets in really big trouble with the monitors if he does it, even though it's never on purpose these days, which Mike thinks isn't fair.

It's a beautiful voice, even if it doesn't affect Mike the way it would a pure human. It's too bad Chuck’s not allowed to talk like that more often. 

Most of that's elvish stuff, apparently, so Chuck looks nice and simple, almost solid elf with just a little human somewhere in the background. He keeps saying he thinks there's siren or something in there too, that his mom could do the voice but his dad couldn't, but the adults don't listen. Sirens died out centuries ago, the trait should be so diluted as to be unnoticeable, even if it was in his ancestry somewhere.

They're ten when Ms. Brinkley says that, and Chuck waits until she walks away before starting an angry whispered lecture on magical heredity and how it works differently from normal genetics. Mike understands about four words of it, because whatever his other blood is, it didn't give him the kind of smarts Chuck got, but he listens attentively anyway.

There are so many nonhumans among the other orphans in Mike and Chuck’s class that Mike kinda wonders for a while where they got so many pure humans to be teachers and monitors. When they go on a field trip to watch a cadet training exercise, he looks and looks and can't spot the signs on more than five of the cadets, and barely more in all the people standing around watching. He asks Chuck about it when they get back to the tiny pod the two of them share that night, but Chuck refuses to answer until the lights are out.

“You can't tell as easily with adults,” Chuck says softly from the bottom bunk. “They say we're a minority but we're not, there's a lot of different races that have been interbreeding forever, even most humans have a little something else in their background by now even if it doesn't show. But Mister Kane is human, so everybody has to look human. Deviant phenotypes get--get altered when they reach their full growth.”

Mike thinks about that a minute. “But some of the cadets didn't look like adults.”

Chuck snorts. “Oh, them. No, the group out there was actually mostly human. You _can_ get in if you're not, but they're not going to let you be the face of the Cadet Corps.”

Mike frowns out the glass wall beside him, watching the shifting glow of a Deluxe night. “Bet they will.”

Chuck sighs instead of arguing. “Whatever, Mikey.”

After a few minutes he starts singing quietly, a wordless melody that winds through the darkness and curls around Mike like a soft blanket. He knows Chuck is singing to comfort himself, that he should ask what's wrong, maybe get up and see if a hug will help, but the tune is so peaceful that he falls asleep before he can do any of that.

Mike starts working to join the cadets. He's going to prove that it doesn't matter if he's not pure human. He looks a little different, yeah, but he's not that far off. He's a little faster, a little stronger, heals quicker, but that’s about it. He can't sprout wings or claws or turn into anything, doesn't do magic spontaneously, can't affect people with his voice or his eyes--he's practically human to start with! He doesn't even care if they want to cut the points off his ears when he gets bigger, it's not like it matters. Whatever blood he's got just isn't a big deal. It doesn't _do_ anything.

Then he hits puberty.

His voice cracks and drops, he outgrows all his clothes, and he's hungry all the time. Chuck started before Mike did, and he's growing and hungry too, so it takes a while for Mike to figure out there's a difference between them. 

Mike's hunger is weird. He can eat a full meal and still be hungry when his belly is stuffed, and the hunger is different somehow. Food just… doesn't affect it?

“Mike, you dumbass,” Chuck says when he tells him about it. “I know you're trying to be extra-special good-as-human and everything, but you're _not_ , remember? You probably need something you're not getting. God I hope it's not blood,” he mutters in an undertone.

Mike wrinkles his nose. He hopes not too.

“Look, just--try to pay attention to what you… what you want, I guess? I dunno, man, I mean, I think I'd have noticed that I wanted to be out in the sun even if we didn't know that about elves, but… it does make it easier that I know what to expect.” Chuck chews on his lip and Mike’s stomach does something funny. “You think you'll be okay?”

Mike slings an arm around his shoulders, which have gotten farther up than they used to be. “Dude, I'll be _fine_. It's not like it's making me weak or sick or anything. I just gotta figure this out, but don't worry! I'll get it.”

Chuck twists his mouth doubtfully, but lets it drop. 

The hunger fades sometimes, gets stronger, fades again. He can't figure out why, what the pattern is, until he wakes up in the night and hears a soft, steady shift of blankets in the lower bunk and the sound of Chuck panting as quietly as he can. Chuck tries to wait until Mike’s asleep usually, but he's misjudged often enough that Mike knows what the noises mean. Chuck’s touching himself, okay, sure, he does that. The difference this time is Mike can kind of… feel it.

Not the touch itself, it's not like--not like Chuck is touching him, although that thought makes him flush hot all over. No, it's more like, Mike's been thirsty forever, and now water’s flowing past him close enough that he can lean over and get a drink. The weird hunger is subsiding.

It's such a relief that it takes effort not to sigh out loud. He doesn't, because Chuck would flip out and stop if he realized Mike was awake, and Mike really doesn't want him to stop. Not just because of the hunger, either. It's also about the way Chuck’s arms and legs are so long now, and his shoulders are getting wide, and he's Mike’s best friend, and Mike kinda wants to kiss him sometimes. Thinking about Chuck touching himself, feeling good, is… wow. Mike swallows and tries to stay quiet.

He knows when Chuck finishes because it feels like the stream that's been flowing past him suddenly has waves rushing down it, splashing across him, making him shiver and blink. And then it's diminished to a trickle, and gone.

Mike takes a deep, silent breath. He feels better, definitely, but… he's still hungry. That was good, but somehow not enough.

He's pretty sure Chuck would be able to figure out what’s missing if Mike asked him about it, but he'd have to tell Chuck about this first, and Chuck would get really embarrassed. He might even do the thing where he avoids Mike for a while, and Mike hates that. Mike will just have to figure it out on his own.

He pays more attention to what he's feeling after that. One day he follows his instincts through the school complex to a closed door, which he stares at until a teacher comes down the corridor and starts in on him for delinquency. He doesn't bother to explain that he didn't mean to skip class, he just got distracted because he could tell something good was happening nearby. Mr. Tracy wouldn't understand anyway. Mike does kind of wonder if someone was touching themselves behind that door, though.

Every couple of days, he wakes up in the morning with the hunger lessened and knows Chuck was doing that again. Mike starts pretending to fall asleep faster, hoping Chuck will be more likely to do it if he has a little more time to himself. Sometimes it works. 

Then one night he's lying quiet, enjoying the smoothness of whatever it is that's flowing past, when it ripples and shifts closer to him. He can almost feel the cool wash of it across his skin. It's good, seems to quell his hunger faster than usual, although even after Chuck has finished and fallen asleep, it takes Mike forever to… wind down again. Geez, it's not like he can even hear much of anything, it's just that being able to sense it makes him think about it, makes him imagine Chuck… like that, the look on his face, the way he might bite his lip--agh, _geez._ Anyway.

He does get to sleep eventually, and when he wakes up, the hunger is less than it's ever been. All day he waits for it to come roaring back, but it stays low in the background, easy to ignore. It's such a relief, feels so much better than usual that the thought of it not happening again makes him want to punch something.

When Chuck gets back to their pod that evening Mike is pacing and antsy. He knows his greeting smile is weird and he's not acting right, but he can't figure out how to answer Chuck’s increasingly persistent questions about what's wrong until the words are already spilling out of his mouth.

“What did you do different last night?”

Chuck blinks at him. “What, in the game? I told you, Mikey, it's a logic puzzle, you have to--”

“No, not the game, in bed,” Mike says, and Chuck’s eyes widen.

“Hahaha, uh, what, you mean--” he starts, and Mike can't take the look on his face, the way his shoulders are pulling in and he's going all tense, but Mike has to know. He can't keep going hungry like this, not now he knows what it’s like to be fed.

Chuck is perched on the lower bunk. Mike comes over and drops to his knees on the floor in front of him and Chuck’s eyes go round. The blush that sweeps over his face almost hides his freckles.

“Please don't be mad,” Mike says, holding up his hands. “I promise I didn't do it on purpose, I just--I--I woke up less hungry and I didn't know why, um, a while back, and then I woke up in the night and you were, y’know, and I would've just gone back to sleep, but I was, it felt so--” Chuck’s eyes are still huge, his face is only getting redder, and Mike is tripping over words, god, he's no good at talking sometimes.

“The--the hunger,” he forces out. “It faded some. So I… I noticed. And sometimes I'd wake up and it'd feel better, and it was nice! And then, last night--”

Chuck makes a little creaky groan and hides his face in his hands.

Mike swallows and keeps going, he has to explain. “You--it felt different. Better! It felt--the hunger went _away_ , I almost wasn't hungry at all today, it was great! S-so I just, I wanted to know what--”

“Oh my _god_ Mike,” Chuck says, and his voice cracks and goes silent a moment until he drags in a breath and groans again. “This is just _typical_ ,” he growls, and mutters to himself for a while, fragments of thoughts he won't string together enough for Mike to understand. “Okay,” he says finally. “Oh my god, okay.” He takes a deep breath, hand over his eyes again, and says carefully, “I think I know what the difference is. But. I, um. It's kinda--personal.”

“Okay,” Mike says. “That's fine, I mean, you don't have to tell me, I guess. Just--can you do it again?”

Chuck stares at him, opens his mouth, and claps both hands over his face again. “Oh my god,” he whimpers. “God, this is so-- _agh_. Yes, okay, I can, I can do that, can we _talk about something else now please?_ ”

“Sure, dude,” Mike says, a little guilty, but also really relieved. “Wanna show me how to get through that next level?”

So they play the game, and Chuck relaxes while trying to explain how to solve logic puzzles. Mike is pretty sure he's just not smart enough to get what Chuck is saying, but that's okay, Mike's really good at the twitch-reflex parts.

When they climb into bed, Mike lies awake waiting for Chuck to get started, but Chuck doesn't do anything. Mike falls asleep kind of confused, hoping Chuck hasn't changed his mind.

He must have just been waiting until Mike dropped off, though, because in the morning, Mike feels _great_. It’s so nice that he hugs Chuck in gratitude as soon as Chuck’s out of bed. Chuck squawks and then cautiously pats him on one shoulder, standing all stiff and weird.

“You have no idea how awkward this is,” he sighs in a high voice, and Mike reluctantly steps back. Chuck’s gotten weird about hugging and stuff recently. It kinda makes Mike feel like Chuck’s mad at him, like he did something wrong, but when he finally asked about it Chuck got all red and flustered and said he just needed more personal space, so Mike’s been trying to give it to him. He just forgets when he's excited.

“Sorry,” he says.

Chuck looks at him and groans. “No, it's not--Mikey, stop looking like that. You're not doing anything wrong, I just--things are just weird right now. _I'm_ just weird right now,” he adds bitterly.

“No you're not,” Mike says. “You're just--tryin’ something new. Or something. Anyway you shouldn't feel bad about it, it's not your fault I can't remember to stop touching you.”

“Ahaha!” Chuck says, going bright red. “Um yes speaking of--I mean, not at all speaking of--you know what? Forget it,” he says, and ducks into the bathroom to get dressed.

Mike blinks after him a minute and then forgets about it. Chuck getting blushy and twitchy at the drop of a hat is becoming pretty familiar by now.

In the middle of the day, Chuck sends him a file. Mike looks at it in the next break period.

_Mike,_

_I did a little research, since I knew you wouldn't. You better appreciate me combing through all that dense writing for you, dude. Here's what I found out:_

_You're probably part incubus_

_That means you need sex, like either to **have** sex or be **around** people having sex or doing sex stuff_

_Which is maybe kind of messed up because we're really young for that???_

_You missed out on having wings and a tail_

_Sorry I guess_

_But actually I'm really glad because you'd be impossible if you could fly, holy crap_

Mike briefly gets distracted thinking how awesome it would be to have wings.

_When you get older you might end up with some powers_

_This is totally unfair, it's not like anyone was ever going to turn you down for a date in the first place_

_SO UNFAIR, MIKEY_

_Chuck_

Mike’s best friend is awesome! He went and figured out everything Mike needs to know! Mike’s got some kind of sex demon in his background. That explains why he likes it when Chuck does that stuff at night, and why it makes him feel better. Cool!

Mike tucks that away in the back of his head and forgets about it. Chuck keeps doing whatever the different thing is that works better, not every night but often enough that Mike is rarely hungry.

Meanwhile, other stuff is happening. Chuck gets accepted as an intern in Kane Co R&D and Mike gets into the Junior Cadets. They don't see each other during the day now, just evenings and sometimes on weekends. It's okay though, because they're both really excited, and they stay up late some nights discussing what they've been up to.

Usually when he's done for the day, Chuck comes down to the cadet training center to get Mike so they can walk back to their pod together, but sometimes he gets out late. One evening Mike decides to surprise him and goes into Kane Co Tower to find him. He gets distracted wandering around R&D instead of looking for Chuck, though, because it's really interesting! There's all this cool equipment and people running weird-looking holographic sims and strange smells in some of the labs--and a familiar, satisfying feeling coming from nearby.

Mike follows it without even thinking, and ends up in front of a door at one end of a lab that says ‘Showers’. He's not sure why a lab needs showers in it, since it's not like anyone's working up a sweat in here, not like cadet training.

He wants to go in, get closer to the source of the feeling, and he's reaching for the handle when it finally hits him--someone's doing sex stuff in there. His hand yanks back from the door and tucks behind his back with the other. Walking in on that would be really weird. It's not Chuck. He knows it's not, something about the, the flavor, sort of.

Also, if someone's having some private time in there, they're not going to be happy if Mike walks in. So that's fine, he'll just wait out here until the person finishes, and then he'll go. 

It's stronger than he's used to when the waves start surging downstream, breaking over him. They're not enough, whoever it is isn't doing the thing Chuck does now, and it's frustrating, because he has the feeling if he could just absorb it all properly he wouldn't be hungry again for days.

Well, no point pouting over it, it's done now, time to--

A second set of waves is coming. A third set, and even though he's not getting as much from them as he could, together they're powerful enough to make him stagger dizzily against the wall. Whoa.

He meant to be on his way out by now, but it takes a minute to get his feet under him and stand without swaying. Geez, that was a _lot_. He feels kind of… wow. Good.

The door opens, and there's a guy with wet black hair and a startled look. His eyes flick over Mike’s Junior Cadet uniform and go even wider. There are voices from the room behind him--oh, there are more people in there, _that's_ why there were so many waves.

Clearing his throat, the guy says loudly, “Can I help you, Cadet?”

The voices go abruptly quiet.

Wow, it's really nice of him to offer! Mike grins at him. “Sorry, I just got kinda lost. Looking for my friend, he's a programmer.”

The guy carefully directs him to the programming division and Mike thanks him before going off to find Chuck. He thinks he likes R&D!

After that, Mike comes to get Chuck at the end of shift instead of the other way around. He doesn't follow it in as close when he gets that sense of food happening nearby, but just kind of hanging out in the labs is enough to get a snack most of the time. It's really nice.

That turns out to be a good thing, because one night when Mike wakes up, the stream flowing from Chuck isn't going towards Mike anymore. He still catches some of it, just like the early times, and like with the people in the labs, but it's not as good a meal as it's been. And it keeps happening. Whatever Chuck was doing, either he's stopped doing it or it's stopped working.

It doesn't seem right to complain, since Chuck was being really nice to help him out that way in the first place, so Mike just deals with it. He drops by R&D on his lunch break. He gets into conversations with random lab techs, and gets better at acting normal when whoever’s up to something finishes it. It's not always as strong as it was that time outside the showers, but it's almost always two in a row, sometimes more. He learns to lock his knees and his spine, not swaying as the waves crash over him, not sighing in relief as he absorbs as much as he can.

The R&D people eventually stop looking all strange and stiff when they see his uniform, too, although they're still really polite. Which is fine! Mike tries to be polite too! 

It's actually really nice to have people treating him with respect instead of ignoring him like a dumb kid. Even if some of them twitch and drop things when he startles them by mistake. Mike figures they're just high-strung, like Chuck. It must be an R&D thing, or a smart people thing, maybe.

One evening he finds Chuck hanging out with some guy who looks a few years older than him, talking about programming stuff Mike can't follow, and there's this thing happening between them. Mike can feel it. He pauses in the doorway to try to understand it, and Chuck is so engrossed in listening to this dude that he doesn't even look up.

They're leaning in towards each other, Chuck and this broad brown-haired guy, and the conversation sounds casual but the way Chuck’s looking at him, the way Chuck laughs and brushes his bangs back, somehow matches the sense Mike’s getting. It's a kind of pull, a tug, like Chuck is reaching for the guy without moving.

Mike gets a sudden image of that stream coming off Chuck in the night, following the path of that pull, going unappreciated because this guy is plain human, he's not even gonna notice what's being wasted on him. He has to step back out of the doorway, lean up against the wall to get past the weird flare of anger. It's dumb, anyway, because he doesn't _know_ that's what's happening, he doesn't know if Chuck’s crush on this guy is the reason he can't feed Mike anymore.

He doesn't. A feeling isn't the same as actually knowing, no matter what his instincts are saying.

“That's such a smart solution, though,” Chuck is saying. “Geez, I wouldn't have thought of that at all.” His voice isn't squeaky with nerves like Mike would expect. It sounds the way it does when he's concentrating, so immersed in what he's thinking about that he doesn't notice the velvety tone he picks up, doesn't remember to hold back the layers of richness that catch most people unaware.

Startled, Mike peers through the door again. Sure enough, the older guy has a dreamy kind of smile on his face and he's swaying in like he wants to hear Chuck better, and if that means getting really far into Chuck’s personal space that's just what has to happen. Chuck is going pink, nibbling at his lower lip, and he's not leaning away at all.

He’s not supposed to use his voice like that, though, he'll get in trouble, Mike’s supposed to be helping him keep that on lockdown. Mike steps through the door, raises a hand in a wave.

“Hey, guys, what's up?”

Chuck jerks around with a yelp, then huffs and says, “Mikey, god! You're gonna give me a heart attack sneaking up like that!”

The other guy is blinking in a dazed sort of way. Mike gives Chuck a look and tilts his head at the guy. Chuck glares at him, flushing darker, and touches the guy cautiously on the arm.

“Sorry, man, I gotta go. Um, maybe we can, like, tomorrow, you want to maybe--”

The guy blinks again, shakes his head once, and grins at Chuck. “Come by at lunch. I didn't finish telling you about that other workaround.”

Chuck grins back and ducks his head, still very pink. “Okay cool see you then,” he says all in one breath, and slides past Mike out the door.

They head back through the labs, Chuck striding fast so Mike has to stretch his legs to keep up. Mike takes a breath to speak and Chuck cuts him off.

“Don't even start with me right now, dude.”

Mike frowns. Chuck’s voice is tight and low and Mike hasn't done anything wrong, it's not fair to be mad at him for trying to keep Chuck safe. “Chuck, you know you're not supposed to--”

“Shut up,” Chuck snaps. “Or do you want to start yelling right here in the middle of Kane Co Tower? I bet charges of improper behavior look just great on a cadet’s record.”

“I don't want to yell at all,” Mike says, although yeah, okay, now he's starting to get frustrated.

“Yeah, well, you're definitely the only one.”

Mike glares at him, Chuck glares back, and Mike isn't sure if he's more relieved or pissed off when they finally get back to their pod. It's weird, fighting with Chuck; it almost never happens, so when it does it just feels wrong and horrible.

“Okay,” Chuck says when they're off the ground, floating quietly along a low flight path. “Just because some of us don't need it to survive doesn't mean it's fine to just walk in and shut down a good thing, okay? We could have actually _gotten_ somewhere, do you even know how great that would've been for me?” His hands are gesturing, sharp and jerky with frustration. “Haha, no, what am I thinking. You have no idea. You're probably used to more interest in a day than I've gotten ever--if you even notice it!”

Mike closes his mouth at that, then opens it again. “Dude, you were using your voice on him! I had to stop you, you can't do that!”

“Well, check it out, Mikey, I _can_ do that and I did! What are you gonna do, report me?”

“What? No!” Mike stares at him, horrified. “Of course not, but what if he does? You're too old to be slipping up like that, you know they stop being lenient when you're not a kid anymore.”

Chuck snorts at him, turning away. “He's not gonna report me.”

“You don't know that, he could! You know how mad the teachers and them got when they came out of it again--”

“Because they were _bigots_ , Mike! They thought I was going to take the opportunity to mess with their heads or steal or something, of course they flipped out when they realized what happened! Stephen _knows_ me, he knows I'm part siren and he _doesn't care!_ ” 

Chuck turns back to face Mike squarely, hands in fists. His eyes are very bright and there's a spot of red high on each cheekbone, striking against his pale skin. The light shifts and glimmers on his hair.

“He asked me to sing for him the other day, you know that? He _asked_ me. It took him like ten minutes to come out of it afterwards and he _loved_ it, he said it was a great high! Surprise, not everyone hates metahumans, some people like us!”

Mike’s not sure what to do with the notion of someone--a pure human--asking a siren to sing for him. It sounds about as safe as staring into an angry dragon’s eyes, or taunting a wer near the full moon. He shakes the distraction away and rallies, focusing on what's important.

“I don't care if he knows, you shouldn't do it, it's not safe, for you or for him!”

Chuck goes still for a moment, then smiles, sharp-edged and unfriendly. He crosses his arms. “Oh, here we go, here's the cadet I was expecting to meet someday. Listen to you trotting out the standard lines. Go on, tell me how I'm going to hurt my friend by mistake because my powers are dangerous and uncontrollable by nature.”

“Well--that's--I mean, that's why we're not supposed to use them, because they're dangerous!”

“No it's not! It's because Kane doesn't have any and he wants to control us, so he has to suppress our powers or make us too scared to use them!”

Mike just stares at him for a second. “ _Mister_ Kane.”

Chuck drags both hands through his hair and clutches at his head. “Really? Everything I just said, and _that's_ what you're going to argue with?”

“Respect is important,” Mike says. “He's our leader. And he's not jealous or something, that's ridiculous, that's not why not the rules are there! He's trying to protect us!”

Chuck’s lips thin. “Right. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking.” He turns away, gets onto his bunk and raises a screen, starts typing with his back to Mike. “I should probably watch my mouth, make sure you don't have me arrested.”

“Chuck, I already said I'm not gonna report you! Even if you're saying really weird stuff.” Mike stares at his skinny back. “I'm not going to get you in trouble, but I can't stop you from doing it yourself. You shouldn't say stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I _don't_ , I'm not an idiot.” Chuck stops and huffs. “Well, I guess I _am_ an idiot for forgetting I'm talking to a cadet now.” 

That shouldn't be an insult, but the bitter way he says it makes it sting, and the way he's just--shut down, stopped arguing--is almost as bad. Mike doesn't know what to say.

“Look, I'm sorry if I--if you were--if he was actually okay with that, I didn't mean to mess anything up. I just want you to be safe, is all.”

Chuck shoots a look over his shoulder. “Right. Safe.”

“Well... yeah! You're my best friend, of course I want you to be safe!”

“Guess you can relax, then, because I'm fine, and I'm gonna stay fine. Don't worry, I won't be saying anything else weird and disrespectful to you about Mister Kane.”

It should be a relief to hear him say that, but his tone makes Mike’s stomach cold. He doesn't understand what went wrong. He apologized and everything, but Chuck is still mad at him, and he doesn't even know why.

“Chuck,” he starts, trying to figure out how to fix this, and Chuck cuts him off.

“Forget it. I have work to finish,” he says, and falls silent, tapping away at his screen full of stuff Mike can't understand.

Mike frowns at his back. “Fine,” he mutters.

He can't settle, can't focus on any of his games or training mods and finally defaults to physical exercise. Even in the Junior Cadets, training is rigorous, calibrated to increase endurance and strength as far as young human bodies can manage, but Mike's not human and it doesn't push him as hard. He doesn't end the day tired and sore like most of the others, so he's got plenty of energy left to run through a full set of fighting exercises, followed by pushups and curls and then practicing the back flip he figured out the other day.

He's sweaty and out of breath by the time Chuck makes a funny noise and he glances over to see what's wrong. Chuck is staring fixedly at his screen, though his back isn't turned to Mike anymore, and his face is flushed. It kinda looks like he was watching Mike and just looked away.

And--huh. That's funny. Mike can feel… something. It's a lot like the reaching pulling thing Chuck had around his programming friend, although it obviously can't be the same thing. You can't have a crush on two people at once.

Mike tries another couple of back flips before he gets tired enough to start messing them up, and the feeling Chuck’s putting off doesn't go away. He can still feel it when he takes a shower, and when he finally falls asleep it's still there.

In the morning he wakes up feeling _good_ , and at first he thinks Chuck’s forgiven him, since he must have done that thing last night. But Chuck’s still giving him the cold shoulder, not looking at him, barely speaking.

Sitting on his bed, Chuck is working with three screens up as Mike’s about to leave.

“Well… have a good day,” Mike says awkwardly.

Chuck doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, without looking up, “Don't come to get me at the end of shift. I'll come back on my own.”

Mike stares at him. “But I like walking back with--”

“You make everyone in the department nervous,” Chuck cuts him off.

“What? No I don't!”

Screens collapsing, Chuck unfolds off the bed in a flurry of long limbs and strides over to Mike, glaring down at him. “Yes, you _do_ , Mike, because you're a _cadet_. People are _scared_ of cadets. Do us all a favor and stay away from R &D.”

Before Mike can answer, Chuck brushes past him and out the door.

It hurts so much to have his best friend pushing him away that it takes Mike until lunch to realize he's just lost his best snacking spot. 

That evening Chuck comes home late, and he's ignoring Mike, not looking at him, not talking to him. It's like he's pretending Mike isn't even there, and it makes Mike so mad he yells at him, just blows up. Chuck snarls right back. By the time they go to bed, there's a chilly, stinging silence between them.

Anger carries Mike through the next two days, because it's not fair, Chuck shouldn't be mad at him when he won't even explain why so Mike can fix it. He's got other stuff to think about anyway; the instructors are evaluating the Junior Cadets at the end of this week and the rumor is going around that if you're good enough you can get into the Cadet Corps early. Mike’s not sure _how_ early, but he's working his butt off anyway trying to impress.

The second day they go through a series of exercises and Mike is pretty sure he sees one of the instructors watching him with raised eyebrows. He pushes harder, finishes before most of the others and watches the instructor look through his scores. When the man starts over to him, Mike has to lock his hands behind his back and pretend his feet are glued down to keep from bouncing anxiously on his toes.

Then the instructor gets closer, and Mike sees his stride hitch, his expression change, going cooler. He takes another couple of steps forward, offers Mike a tight-lipped nod and an unenthusiastic “Good work, Junior Cadet,” and swings right past him to inspect the others up close.

Mike tries to convince himself he didn't see the man’s eyes flick to his ears just before his face went cold. He doesn't quite manage it.

He's in a weird, restless mood by the time he gets home; angry in a way that's hurt and sad and tired all at once. Why did that instructor think the points on Mike’s ears were more important than his high scores and all the work he's doing? Mike isn't dangerous, he's never hurt anyone, he doesn't even have any powers yet.

He tries to work out his feelings by exercising, doing leg sweeps and punches and high kicks, but he just feels heavier and sadder the more his anger burns away. By the time Chuck gets home, Mike is sitting on the floor in a sweaty, tired daze, leaning back against the side of the bottom bunk.

Chuck walks in, barely glancing up from the screen he's working on, and only notices Mike when he's two strides away from stepping on him. He blinks down at Mike and even now when he's off balance and startled, Mike can see that new distance in his blue-green eyes.

It'd help if Mike could still be angry at him, because this isn't fair, but he's out of anger, and nothing is fair, apparently. Mike just wants his best friend back.

He tips his head back against the bed to look up at Chuck. “Tell me what to do to make you stop being mad at me,” he says, tired and quiet. “If I gotta apologize for something else, I will. If I need to make something up to you, I'll do it. But you can't--I don't even know what I did. I thought I did, but I already apologized for that and it didn't help. I just…” His eyes are stinging and he stops to rub them. “...I miss you.”

There's a long pause. Chuck sighs and folds his arms, shoulders hunching. His screen blips out. “...I know,” he says. “But you can't expect things to stay the same, now. We're kind of… in different places, dude. We've got different priorities. You're gonna be a cadet, which makes you way more important than a techie.”

Mike lifts his head, frowning. “Wait. You're mad at me because you think _I_ think I'm more important than you? Because I don't, I'm not!”

“ _No_ , Mike, it's a lot more complicated than that.” Chuck looks at him, lips twisted ambivalently.

Mike scrambles to his feet. “Then explain it to me, dude! Cuz right now it just sounds like you're holding it against me that I'm a cadet, and that's--”

Chuck’s lips thin and he looks away. Mike's voice stumbles and slows to a halt.

“--th-that’s just… not fair at all…” He stares at Chuck, who crosses his arms, eyes on the Deluxe nightscape through the far wall. “Chuck. You know how hard I worked to get in. You know how much I wanted this--why are you mad at me for it?”

Chuck doesn't answer for a moment. “Cadets have authority,” he says. “They have power.” He looks back at Mike finally, cool and assessing. “What are you going to do with your power, Mikey?”

“Protect the people of Deluxe!” Mike says promptly.

“From what?” Chuck says, very crisp and precise. “Dissent? Metahumans getting above ourselves?”

“Anything that threatens them!” Mike says, staring at him. “People misusing their powers, sure, or--”

“You mean using them at all,” Chuck says bitterly.

“I'm not going to have that argument with you again,” Mike says in as stern a voice as he can manage. “The rules are there to protect people and you know that.”

“Guess that answers that question pretty nicely,” Chuck mutters, and ducks past Mike to get onto his bed, bringing up a screen before he's even settled.

“No it doesn't! Chuck, we're not done, you're being a jerk and I haven't done anything!”

“Sure, except spout the party line at every turn and prove you're not going to think for yourself.”

Mike’s mouth drops open. “ _Dude!_ What are you even--just cuz I don't agree with you doesn't mean I'm not thinking for myself!”

Chuck turns and looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Okay. Fine, let's test it. What are you going to do when you're ordered to forcibly escort a metahuman to get altered?”

“Forcibly--what, like, if someone didn't want to go?” Mike blinks and frowns. “I guess I'd try to find out what was wrong, if someone told them mean stories or something so they were scared. Then I'd make sure they knew there was nothing to be scared of! So, it'd be fine!”

“Right,” Chuck says, voice flat. “Fine.” He watches Mike a moment more and Mike stares back at him, wondering what Chuck is even looking for, why he's asking these weird questions.

Chuck inhales through his nose, lips tight. “What if no one told them scary stories, what if they just don't feel like having bits of them cut off and grafted and reshaped just to make them look like something they're not?”

“Everyone wants to look human, though,” Mike protests.

“ _No_ , Mikey, everyone doesn't!” Chuck says, and Mike realizes that the real weight and richness of his voice is out in full right now, has been for a few minutes, velvety and enticing even when he snaps. “Answer the question! Like I don't already know the answer.”

“Well, if they were just being stubborn about it, I'd escort them to their appointment, I mean, they're being dumb!” Mike waves his arms, frustration and confusion and hurt at that jerk of an instructor surging up together. “Looking like this _sucks!_ If you look human, you get _treated_ like you're human, and who doesn't want that?”

“It's not _looking_ like this that sucks,” Chuck says sharply. “It's being treated badly by people who are bigoted jerks!”

Mike hesitates, because on the one hand, he _really liked_ the few people he's met who treated nonhumans like they treated everyone else, but on the other hand, everyone knows humans are better, are what you should strive to be. It doesn't make any sense to pretend.

“Anyway it doesn't matter,” Chuck says, waving a dismissive hand, “you've already proven my point. You're going to follow the rules no matter how stupid they are, no matter who they hurt.”

“The rules are there for a _reason_ , Chuck, I'm sorry if they hurt someone once in a while, but they keep people safe all the rest of the time!”

“Whatever,” Chuck says, curling a lip at him. “Good to know that if you're the one who gets called to haul me off to my appointment you won't even hesitate.”

Mike stares at him, appalled. “You--Chuck, you're going to… resist?”

“You realize they wouldn't just change my ears,” Chuck says, looking back at his screen. “They're going to try to do something about my voice, and I don't know if I'll even have vocal cords by the time they're done. I kind of like being able to _talk_.”

“Buddy, don't be ridiculous, of course you'll be able to--”

“Don't call me that,” Chuck cuts in. “And don't call _me_ ridiculous when you're the one extolling the praises and benevolence of Kane toward us subhuman types.” His shiver-sweet high voice is so thick with sarcasm Mike winces.

“Don't--you don't want me to call you…”

Chuck takes a deep breath. “Don't call me ‘buddy’. You can't act like we're friends if you would willingly help them do that to me.”

Mike swallows hard. He doesn't _know_ what he'd do in that situation. He can't lie and say he'd argue with his orders or let Chuck go--he doesn't know. But he doesn't want anything bad to happen to Chuck either, doesn't want him to be angry or sad or hurt.

“That's why I'm angry at you,” Chuck says without looking up from his screen. “You don't have my back anymore. I can't trust you. So… forget it. I'm not going to pretend nothing’s changed and we're still fine when we're not.”

Mike’s throat is so tight it's hard to breathe. “But--Chuck, I don't--I still want to--”

“I know,” Chuck says. “But I've already told you what's up. If you don't feel like doing anything to fix it, that's on you.”

“Fix--Chuck, how am I supposed to _fix_ it? If you resisting alteration is illegal, me _helping_ you is--that's really close to treason!”

Chuck turns toward him again, hands clenching on his knees. His blue-green eyes are piercingly intense on Mike’s face. “You wouldn't get in trouble, though, you're a cadet,” he says, leaning forward. “If you made a request through the right channels for an exemption to be authorized, for example, no one would ask any questions.”

Mike breathes in and out, shifting his weight onto his toes and back again. There's a buzzing under his skin, and a strange, dizzy, too-close feel to the air around him. The hunger gnawing at him isn't for food, but for the other nourishment he hasn't gotten in days now, and it's distracting when he's trying to think, trying to understand what Chuck is saying.

“So that's--that's what I have to do, to be your friend,” he says unsteadily. “That's the condition you're setting.”

Chuck nibbles his lip and sits back again, frowning at his hands. “No. N-no. You _could_ do that, or just--just make an _effort_ , Mikey!” He looks up again, waving his hands. “Pay attention! Don't just follow orders blindly, _think_ about them! And the same with the rules! _Why_ does everyone want to be human, why are humans better than anyone else? Because Kane says so! _Think_ about it! There's nothing wrong with my voice, and whatever powers you might get, there's nothing wrong with them either, any more than there's something wrong with having hands!”

“Dude, that is _not_ the same thing,” Mike says.

“Yes it _is!_ It's all in how you use them! I can make someone relaxed and happy or I can make them do whatever I say, the same way you can pat someone or punch them in the face!” 

Chuck stops, breathing hard. Mike tries to figure out how to say _again_ that powers are innately dangerous and shouldn't be used at all, but Chuck’s face goes shuttered and he turns away again.

“Forget it, you're not listening. This is pointless.”

“I _am_ listening,” Mike says hotly, “I'm just not changing my mind!”

Chuck glances back at him. “Yeah. And neither am I.”

“So what, that's it? All of a sudden you're just gonna decide you don't like me anymore? We've been friends since we were _five!_ ”

“I _know_ ,” Chuck growls, and his voice prickles down the back of Mike’s neck, makes his eyes go wide because _oh_. That feels… different. “I was there. And I'm not saying I _hate_ you, I'm just not hanging out with someone I can't trust.”

“But you _can_ \--”

“No I can't! Not when it counts, apparently. Mike, stoppit. I've said everything I had to say and it didn't make any difference. Unless you've got something new to say, we're done. Time to stop.”

Mike doesn't stop. He argues and yells and Chuck stops answering, flicks up a game screen and raises the volume until Mike retreats to the bathroom to get away from the noise. He takes a belated post-workout shower, since it's time for bed anyway, and if he cries while he's in there, Chuck won't know, so it's not like it matters. 

By the time he comes out, the room is dark and silent and Chuck is pointedly still under his blankets. Mike climbs up into the upper bunk, trying to breathe past the lump in his throat. Eventually he sleeps.

The next day is miserable. Mike resorts to sending Chuck messages, which he doesn't answer and might not even read. Chuck stays at work even later than usual and Mike stubbornly stays up waiting for him, but when he gets home he's back to ignoring Mike, not looking at him or answering him.

It hurts more now that Mike knows exactly why, knows what he'd have to do to get Chuck back, because it's _wrong_ , Chuck shouldn't want him to circumvent the law like that. Chuck shouldn't say the stuff he says, either, all that stuff about questioning the rules. When Mike can think beyond how much it hurts, past the weight of grief and anger in his chest, he hopes Chuck doesn't say that stuff to anyone who'd get him in trouble for promoting subversive ideas. Chuck’s not a bad guy, not a dissident, he's just confused about things. Mike doesn't want to get him in trouble, he just wants his friend back.

The day after that, the instructors hand out evaluations. Mike is being accepted into the Cadet Corps early, and in his case, early means _now_.

It's… great! A real triumph! ...He has a hard time getting properly excited about it, though. 

When the lights are out that night, he tentatively tells Chuck, lying in the upper bunk staring at the lights outside, and for a long sinking moment he thinks Chuck’s not even going to answer.

Then Chuck says flatly, “Congratulations,” and nothing else, and it's even worse. Mike is pretty sure he stays quiet enough that Chuck can't hear him, but he can't keep from crying at that point. Whether Chuck realizes or not, he doesn't say anything.

The next day Mike moves into the cadet barracks.

Things are different, as a full cadet. He gets pushed harder, farther, and the competition is fiercer to be the best, to exceed expectations. Most of the cadets are human, and the slight advantage Mike’s nonhuman blood gives him isn't nearly enough to make up for the amount it puts him behind in the trainers’ and instructors’ eyes, not to mention with the other cadets. He's younger than nearly all of them, too, smaller and less muscular, and when he pushes himself hard enough that he starts to surpass the older boys, like he's used to surpassing everyone, some of them get really unfriendly.

It wouldn't be so bad if he could call up Chuck and complain, watch him roll his eyes at the jerks Mike is surrounded by and then let him distract Mike by babbling about some coding problem he hasn't been able to work out. Mike gets desperate enough to try the call a few times, but Chuck never picks up, and when Mike leaves messages, he doesn't call back. Mike’s no genius, but he learns quick. He stops trying.

Cadet food tastes weird, too, but the weirdest part is how his other hunger--doesn't go away, exactly. It doesn't fade, either, and no surprise, because apparently no one in the building does anything that would feed Mike, not at night, not on breaks, not in the showers--never. But after about a week, it feels like there's a wall between him and the hunger. He can tell it's still there, but he doesn't care anymore.

Another week and he starts vaguely noticing other changes, though he's preoccupied pushing himself to keep up, to excel. 

Things used to happen when he was in the shower, washing certain bits of him. It felt good, he enjoyed it, but it doesn't happen anymore and that's--it's probably a good thing. Cadets have more important things to attend to. They can't afford distractions, they’re disciplined, controlling their minds and their bodies. Maybe that's it, he's just controlling himself now in a way he didn't know he could.

He starts getting headaches, which has never happened before. They're a lot more uncomfortable than he expected. Pain is easier to deal with when it's from pushing himself to get stronger and faster and better. That's a good pain, the pain of muscles working and growing; this is just pointless. He has to keep his mouth shut about it, too, because being nonhuman is already a strike against him, and if it gets around that he's got this obvious weakness as well, he'll never get anywhere in the Corps.

Finally, though it takes him a long time to realize, he seems to have lost the inhuman edge to his strength and speed. Fortunately, his skill at combat has a solid base in native aptitude and agility, so once he learns how to adjust for it, it doesn't make much of a difference. He continues making his way steadily up the ranks, irritating half the Cadet Corps and drawing some of the others to make friends.

Jenzen is just below Mike in the rankings, and a new cadet like him. He's a year older than Mike, but he doesn't seem to hold it against him. He starts hanging out at meals and on breaks, chatting about the instructors and the exercises and nothing in particular.

He's blond, but he does his hair really differently than Chuck, and his eyes are a nice brown, and his ears are humanly round. After a while, having him around stops being a reminder of what Mike’s lost.

Soon after Mike's fifteenth birthday, there's a personal inspection by Mister Kane. Mike stands in line with the rest, practically vibrating with excitement.

Mister Kane stands in front of them and says a few inspirational things about courage and commitment to duty while Mike drinks in every word, then walks along the line and greets each cadet by name. When he gets to Mike, he says, “Cadet Chilton,” in a considering tone. His eyes flicker to the points of Mike's ears, but then he goes on as if he hasn't noticed, “I've heard good things.”

“Th-thank you, sir!” Mike stammers, thrilled, and he nods and smiles just slightly and moves on. Jenzen is next in line.

“Cadet Karras!” Mister Kane says, and smiles more broadly. “Our newest rising star! Excellent work, Cadet.”

Mike stares straight ahead as Jenzen says something properly grateful and Mister Kane moves down the line. He's not even surprised, exactly. He might be angry, but if he is it's at a level so deep he can't really feel it. It leaves him in a sort of numb place.

Jenzen catches him at dinner. “Hey, uh, I think maybe he just got us reversed in the rankings, you know?”

Mike can tell he doesn't actually believe that, but it's nice of him to try. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, and smiles.

After that it's a running joke between them, who's actually the ‘rising star’ and who has to work harder to catch up. It makes it a little better, makes the sting easier to bear.

Mike still works harder than ever to be the best. He's going to make sure Mister Kane hears so much about him that he can't overlook him again, he's going to _impress_ Mister Kane, make him proud.

Jenzen swears at him sometimes, because friendly as their rivalry is, they're still competing, and if Mike would just _lay off_ for a while with his crazy drive to improve, Jenzen could maybe _relax_ now and then. Mike just laughs and prods him into another sparring match.

The more muscle he puts on, the more Mike wins those matches, and the ones against the rest of the cadets. Halfway through his fifteenth year, he's pretty much unbeaten, the top of every category. Jenzen jockeys with a couple of others for the spot just below, sometimes there, sometimes a little lower. He holds the next highest spot in more categories than anyone else, though.

It's really cool to have a friend who's just as good at things as Mike. Jenzen’s skilled at hand-to-hand and tactics, he's committed and disciplined and determined and smart… not as smart as Chuck, sure, but no one is.

And then he's thinking about Chuck again. He goes days or weeks without any thought of the guy, and then something will spark a memory and that ache and angry hurt is back heavy in his chest, only slightly muted by time. He keeps trying to put the guy out of his mind for good, forget about him, but it never works.

A month or so before Mike turns sixteen, he goes for a walk and finds himself wandering through Kane Co tower. He doesn't think about where he's going until he steps into R&D, and then he just keeps walking forward, won't let himself hesitate. Chuck doesn't want him here, yeah, but Chuck doesn't have the authority to keep him out. If he's pissed off Mike showed up, that won't be anything new, and at least Mike will get to see him. And there has to be a chance he’s forgiven Mike at least a little, at least enough for a short visit.

Mike takes another step and staggers as a familiar feeling washes over him, one he's almost forgotten in the barracks. That's right, that's the other reason he used to come here, he remembers now.

Either he remembers wrong, though, or it used to feel really different. It felt good back then, he thinks, eased his other hunger, gave him strength and energy and cheered him up--not that he needed it, things were so much easier then. Now it's… not quite painful, but not comfortable either. It's like pressure on a part of him that's too weak to bear it and can't get out of the way.

Taking a deep breath, he steels himself and keeps walking. He wants to see Chuck, and if this is what he has to deal with to do that, he can handle it.

As he moves through the various branches of the department, he notices how the scientists and techies nearby hunch their shoulders and focus very intently on what they're doing, only a few of them flicking sideways glances his way. The last time he was here he thought it was respect, but maybe he's gotten smarter or maybe he just knows more now, because he can tell Chuck was right, at least about this. The tension filling the air is from nerves strung taut, and it follows him.

In a way he hasn't been in years, he's suddenly aware of the way his uniform sits on him, the way the bootheels strike the floor with his stride. Most of the people in here are full grown, a bunch of them with the subtle signs he's finally learned to see of altered nonhumans, but he could probably take down anyone in here within seconds. And even if someone dared to report him, he'd get a mark on his record at worst.

Casual remarks he's heard other cadets make about useless techies suddenly come back to him, putting an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Of course these guys are scared of him, of cadets in general. If a typical cadet wandered in here, probably everyone would have to try to carry on working while being mocked and sneered at, all the while hoping it wouldn't get worse.

Mike swallows and his stride hitches as a wave of dizziness hits him. He's really not feeling so hot. He can't tell if the nausea is from shame at being so oblivious when he was younger, or from the energy of someone's private fun battering against the part of him that's curled into a permanent wince of pain now.

He gets to the programmers’ area and has to lean against the wall a minute. God, if Chuck gets mad at him right now he's not sure if he can deal with it.

After a few deep breaths it doesn't get better, so he just pulls himself upright, shoves some kind of friendly smile on his face, and walks in, looking around. Chuck’s not sitting in the spot that used to be his, so either he moved or he's working with someone else right now. Mike wanders around for a while, but then the fun-times of whoever’s going at it somewhere not far enough away starts to peak, waves washing past Mike, and the world sort of slides sideways for a minute.

“Whoa, hey,” says a voice after a bit, and Mike opens his eyes cautiously, clutching his head as the second set of waves fade out. He's sitting on the floor, curled over, a tech crouched in front of him, frowning. Heavyset guy, skin a darker brown than Mike’s, black hair back in a ponytail. Ears with faint scars around the rim where they were altered.

“You all right?” the tech says.

Mike breathes in, breathes out, tries a smile again. “I'll be fine, yeah. Hey, you know a really smart guy around here, blond, elvish, goes by Chuck?”

The guy's expression goes blank. “‘Fraid not.”

Mike stares at him. The programming section is not that big, and he remembers Chuck muttering, half-annoyed and half-pleased, that everyone was in each other's business all the time and if this was what a family was really like, maybe he was glad to give it a miss. This guy _has_ to know Chuck.

“I'm his friend,” Mike says. “I just--we grew up together, but I haven't seen him in a while and I just--I was hoping to visit.”

The guy's face changes, eyes narrowing slightly, flicking over Mike again. “I remember you. You used to come by here all the time and leave with him. You grew some.”

“Uh,” Mike says. “Yeah, I guess.”

The guy watches him a moment more, then offers a hand, getting to his feet. Mike takes it cautiously and the guy hauls him upright without apparent effort.

On his feet, Mike wavers once before getting his balance and the guy puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, frowning more darkly. He's a few inches shorter than Mike, and somewhat rounder.

“What's your blood?” he says abruptly, and Mike stares. Geez, that's rude.

“What's yours?” he says, not quite a snap.

The techie gives him an amused look. “Mostly vamp, a little something else, not sure what.”

Mike blinks, startled by how nonchalant he is. “So… you drink blood?”

The guy tilts his head to one side in a way that makes Mike aware that wow, that was way ruder than the guy's original question. “Yep,” is the level reply. “Doesn't take much to keep me going.” He waits a second, raises his eyebrows at Mike.

“...Incubus,” he mutters.

The guy starts to nod, stops short, eyes widening and brows pulling down hard. “But you're a _cadet_.”

Mike should be used to this reaction by now, but for some reason he wasn't expecting it from this guy. His eyes narrow. “Yeah, and I've been top in the rankings for five months now. Looks like I'm not doing so bad.”

The guy rolls his eyes, flicks one hand in an impatient gesture. “I'm sure you're doing _great_ , kid, but you've got to have noticed what it's doing to you!”

Okay, that's not the usual reaction at all. Mike blinks at him. “What what's doing to me?”

One hand goes up to pinch the bridge of the guy's nose as he breathes in slow. “The cadets get put on libido suppressants as soon as they enter the Corps,” he says evenly. “You didn't wonder what happened, why everything stopped working like normal? You didn't notice how you couldn't _feed_ anymore?” The pinching hand drops to wave in illustration, then taps a finger on his chin as his frown on Mike shifts, goes thoughtful. “Or can you? I could be wrong, I guess. Not sure how that'd work.”

Mike stares blankly for a long moment as details from over a year ago come back to him, click together to form a completely new picture. The headaches, the gradual lessening in strength and speed, the fact that he hasn't fed since he left the pod he shared with Chuck because no one in the barracks does sex stuff of any kind.

“Oh,” he says, and bites his lip under the sudden surge of bitterness and anger. He hasn't even _had_ any of the advantages of being nonhuman since he joined the Corps, they took it all away without telling him, and he _still_ doesn't get the benefit of being treated like everyone else.

“Even if you can still feed,” the guy goes on, “the suppressants can't be doing you any good. And no one offered you an exemption or anything, gave you dispensation to skip that part, get your meals somewhere else--of course not. Not like it's any of their concern if it messes you up.” His mouth pinches and he runs a hand over his hair.

It takes Mike a stupidly long moment of staring at his tight expression to realize that the guy is genuinely angry on Mike's behalf. It gives him an odd jolt in the pit of his stomach that he can't decipher beyond startlement--cautious pleasure, maybe? Faint shame, discomfort? He pushes it away.

“It's not a big deal,” he says firmly, straightening his back. “I can handle it, it's fine.” Maybe the headaches suck, but he's learned to get along like this, and dang it he's not giving up now.

Black brows lift at him. “Well, I guess if you're mostly human it won't kill you or anything, but you'd still be better off with a meal now and then.” He frowns to himself a moment. “You need to have sex to feed, or is it enough to be around when someone else is having it?”

Mike's mouth drops open and his face floods with heat. Holy _crap_. “Wha-- _dude_ ,” is all he manages.

“What?” There's a faintly amused twist at one corner of the guy's mouth, but he sounds impatient. “Come on, I'm pretty sure someone around here would be willing to help out a good-looking kid like you, but you gotta fill me in on what that'd mean.”

Is--is he actually saying some random techie would be willing to--with Mike? Just… out of nowhere? And that's supposed to sound like a good idea?!

 _If Chuck volunteered, now_ , whispers a voice at the back of his mind, and he blushes harder and shuts it up fast.

“Um. Thanks. For the offer. But, uh. I think maybe--” _even if I was willing to do that which holy smokes I'm really really not_ “--it wouldn't work right now. Someone was, uh, doing something when I came in, and before, that would've been--a nice snack, I guess? But it didn't work this time.” He scowls at the floor where he collapsed. “That's why I got so dizzy. They, uh, finished up, I guess, and it didn't… feel so great.” He shrugs. “It's not like it's been a real problem, you shouldn't worry about it.”

The guy tilts his head slightly, almost challenging. “If _we_ don't worry about each other, no one will.”

After a bewildered minute, Mike realizes he means _we nonhumans_ , and swallows at the unexpected bitterness that wells up in agreement. He shoves it aside.

“Look,” he says, trying to smile, “if you really want to help me out, you can help me find Chuck. I swear he's not in trouble or anything, I just… really want to see him.”

Expression unencouraging, the guy watches him in silence.

Mike's smile wavers and drops away. “I guess he's still mad at me, huh.” He takes a deep breath, tries to pull himself together, stop feeling like this is one more blow than he can take without fraying apart. He knew this was possible, that time might not be enough to get Chuck to stop being angry, let go of what he wanted from Mike and accept what he could get. Looks like maybe he's not interested in that.

Mike bites his lip. “Can you just… give him a message for me? Tell him--”

“No,” the guy interrupts. He swipes a hand over his hair again and reaches up to adjust his ponytail, sighing heavily. “No, I'm not--I can't--whatever adolescent drama you two had going on, just forget about it, okay? He's not here.”

“You do know him, though,” Mike says, pouncing on the admission.

“Yeah, fine, I know him, smart guy, but it's not gonna do you any good.” The guy studies him a moment, pressing his lips together. “Some exec found out about his voice,” he says quietly. “Not sure how. Got all worked up about it and pulled some strings to get him altered early.”

Mike’s skin prickles as a chill sweeps over him. He and Chuck always felt pretty differently about their inevitable future alterations, but it's taken him a while, looking back, to really comprehend how strongly Chuck feels about it--or, well, felt. Mike wouldn't care that much if it was him, but right now all he can think of is the trapped, helpless rage and terror Chuck must have reacted with when he found out. God.

“Is he--he's okay, right?”

“Probably,” the guy says. “I wouldn't know, though. He never showed at his appointment, they came looking for him here, never found him. We haven't seen him since, so. Pretty sure he ran.”

It takes a moment to get through. Mike’s first stupid thought is, ran where? Then it hits and his eyes widen. “He _defected?_ ” he blurts out like an idiot.

The guy rolls his eyes. “Sure, I guess that's how a cadet would put it.”

Mike just stares at him, mute with shock at the thought of Chuck fleeing to Motorcity. He did say he meant to resist, but Mike didn't really take him seriously. Apparently he should have.

Chuck ran away, he _left_. That makes him a dissident, an enemy of Deluxe, technically, but he's not, Mike knows he's not, he can't be.

Not that it matters whether he is or not, because either way he's _gone_. Mike is never going to see him again.

“Oh,” he says numbly, and turns away. He remembers after a couple of steps to turn back and say, “Thanks for letting me know,” and then he leaves.

The next week is kind of a blur. Mike gets through it by rote, numb and bewildered, anger or grief occasionally breaking through to be swallowed by the blankness again. Chuck didn't even leave a message for him, like it didn't even matter to him that he'd never see Mike again. Like he doesn't even miss him.

Jenzen notices something’s up, but he's not the type to pry. Mike’s glad, since he's not sure how he'd explain being all upset over a guy who broke the law and ducked out of his alterations by defecting to Motorcity.

By Mike's birthday, the numbness has faded completely, which sucks, because now he's just upset and angry. Angry at Chuck for leaving, for caring that much about keeping all his nonhuman traits when they don't even do him any good, for not caring about Deluxe, for _ditching_ Deluxe like a stupid traitor. It's not like Deluxe needs him, or will even notice he's gone. Mike hopes he's happy, down there in the darkness, with the vermin. Mike's not worried about him at all.

A few weeks after his birthday, the rumor goes around that someone's getting a promotion. Mike and Jenzen kind of glance at each other when they hear it, because they're at the top, just like they have been for a while. Well, Mike’s at the top, really. It should be him, they both know it, but they also know Jenzen’s got an advantage that might trump all Mike’s hard work.

They don't talk about it. It's not a comfortable situation for Mike, and he's pretty sure Jenzen doesn't like it any better. It should be Mike, but if it's Jenzen it won't be Jenzen’s fault, Mike will have to try not to resent him. Jenzen will probably be equal parts pleased and guilty, and that'll be hard to deal with too.

Things are a little awkward between them because they're both thinking about it, but they do their best to get past it and talk about other stuff, play through training simulations together, keep their spars friendly. Mike’s grateful to have a friend like Jenzen, he's just a really good guy.

Word comes down that Mister Kane is making an inspection, and that morning Jenzen is huffing at Mike, trying to get him to hurry up. Mike just snorts at him. Jenzen doesn't stress out as much as--some people, but he definitely gets more worked up about some things than Mike.

As usual, Mike steps into line with the others with perfect timing as Mister Kane arrives. Mike’s heart beats faster just seeing him, hope and nerves and still a bit of awe tangling up in his chest. Mister Kane paces down the line coolly, nodding approvingly once or twice. When he reaches Jenzen, he nods with a warm smile, and Mike’s stomach twists a little tighter.

Mister Kane takes one more step and stops in front of Mike. “Cadet Chilton,” he says, and Mike salutes, heart pounding against his ribs.

“At ease, Cadet,” Mister Kane says, smiling at him, dark eyes sharp under bristling red brows. “Your work over the past year has been exemplary. I'm curious to learn what you can do for Deluxe if you're given more to work with.”

Mike swallows and realizes with a start that it wasn't the statement it sounded like, but a question. “I'll give Deluxe everything I've got, sir,” he says promptly, and Mister Kane nods in satisfaction, eyes warming.

“That's what I like to hear,” he says, clapping Mike on the shoulder, and Mike barely manages to keep his balance, breathless with the unaccustomed approval. 

“I look forward to seeing it--Commander,” Mister Kane says.

The word doesn't make sense for an instant, and then Mike’s eyes widen, an astonished grin spreading across his face. “Thank you, sir! I--you won't regret it!”

“I trust not,” Mister Kane says, amused, like--like he's joking, like Mike is worth his attention to joke with. He leads Mike in the oath to Deluxe and puts the commander's patch on Mike’s shoulder himself. Mike can't control his expression, can barely keep from bouncing on his toes, fizzing with delight.

Before he goes, Mister Kane gives Mike his first real assignment. It doesn't seem that interesting, but it does involve going down to Motorcity, so it could get dangerous if something unexpected happens. After the ceremony’s over, Mike talks it through with Jenzen, who’s also coming on the mission, and they work out some ideas for if any gangs of thugs show up or anything.

“Hey,” Jenzen says when they're done, catching Mike’s arm. “Congrats, man. You deserve this.” His brown eyes are steady on Mike’s, and if his smile is a little wry, it's still real.

“Thanks!” Mike says, grinning. He kind of wants to hug Jenzen, but that's a little kid thing and they're grown cadets now, so he settles for a friendly shoulder punch. Jenzen punches him back harder, grinning, so Mike retaliates, and then they're tussling in the hallway and it's a minute before Jenzen breaks free, sniggering and smoothing down his uniform.

“Cut it out, man, we've got a mission to get ready for!”

“Heck yeah!” Mike says, and goes off to do that. He's going to prove himself and make Mister Kane glad he chose him. 

They take a squad of Elites and two wrecking balls and go down to the designated coordinates beneath Deluxe. It's dark down there, but not like Mike thought it would be. Shafts of sunlight come down through breaks in the dark ceiling of Deluxe above, and there's a glow all around the edge of the horizon. Once Mike’s eyes adjust, the light is dim but sufficient.

Geez, the place is dirty, though. The concrete and asphalt underfoot are cracked and broken into rubble, giving way to bare dirt, and the two buildings they come to are worn and dark, nothing like the bright, clean pods up in Deluxe. Of course, the red condemned signs sprayed across the walls doesn't help to make them look any more welcoming.

Mike can't tell if they're still structurally sound, but the idea is to knock them down before they get near the point of coming down on their own. There's just one problem.

As the squad approaches, the wrecking balls rumbling into position, Mike catches a flicker of movement at one window, and then another. He's staring, trying to tell if it was a shift of the light or reflection in the glass, and then one of the lower windows opens and a lady with messy gray hair sticks her head out.

“Get out of here, Deluxe!” she yells, and a thin tongue of flame comes out on the last word.

Mike is staring dumbly, trying to figure out what she's _doing_ in there, when an Elite hoists his gun and takes a shot. The lady dodges away with a cry and Mike snaps, “Stand _down!_ ”

“Mike,” Jenzen says in an undertone, “we can't just let some squatter threaten us.”

“Dude,” Mike says, just as low, “I don't think she's a squatter. I think she _lives_ there.” As he watches, faces briefly appear by other windows, ducking away again or drawing the curtains. “This place still has tenants.”

Jenzen frowns at the building, shakes his head and turns back to Mike. “Does it matter? We've got our orders.”

Mike stares at him. “Our _orders_ were to take down a couple of empty buildings! These don't fit the description.”

Jenzen breathes in through his nose and says reluctantly, “Mister Kane didn't actually say ‘empty’. He said ‘marked for demolition’. We have to carry out our mission, man, come on--you can't get cold feet now,” he adds, trying to smile.

“ _Cold feet?_ Jen, you're talking about dropping a building on these people's heads! There's no way that's what Mister Kane meant,” Mike says, and starts to turn away to pull up a comm screen.

Jenzen catches his elbow. “You can _not_ call up Mister Kane for this,” he says, quiet and urgent. “Mike, I'm serious, he wants commanders who can think for themselves, make the hard calls--if you call him up all worried about this, you'll lose every scrap of respect you've earned from him, you'll lose _everything_. You're too good, you've worked way too hard to give it all up for trash like this!”

Mike jerks his arm away. “Trash?”

“She was _draconic_ , Mike, you can't tell me you missed that! They're not human, and they're not like Deluxe citizens, getting altered, fitting in, following the rules--these folks are Motorcity vermin! Thugs and monsters--you don't want to take risks for them, they're not worth it!”

Mike stares at Jenzen, eyes flicking across his face, taking in every detail. Brows furrowed in concern, intent brown eyes, set lips--same old Jenzen, no changes to show he's turned into someone different, someone cruel and thoughtless.

Maybe the problem is just that Mike never really knows his own friends. He assumes he knows what they're like, what's really important to them, without ever actually bothering to find out for sure. And then when it turns out all his assumptions are wrong, it comes as a shock, because he's an idiot.

“Jenzen,” he says in a taut voice, “you can alter me, but I still won't be human.”

“That's not the same,” Jenzen groans, “you're one of the good ones! You're Deluxian, you're a _cadet_ , come on! You know what I mean!”

“I don't think I do,” Mike says.

An Elite clears his throat, sounding uncomfortable. As the squad’s superior officer, Mike probably shouldn't be having this fight in front of them. 

“Your orders, sir?” says the Elite.

“Stand down,” Mike says firmly. “Don't attack anyone unless they present a clear and direct threat. And no, a tiny flame from yards away doesn't count. This mission is on hold until I get things straightened out with Mister Kane.”

The Elite salutes, Mike turns away to open a comm line, and Jenzen swears quietly.

Mister Kane’s eyes are cool and narrow on Mike, hologram standing life-sized in front of him as Mike explains the situation. “I fail to see the problem, Commander,” Mister Kane says finally, soft and dangerous.

Mike frowns a little and tries to clarify. “Sir, we can't knock down buildings people are living in. We could hurt or kill them!” He lets out half a laugh, “You didn't send us down here to start a war!”

Mister Kane’s bushy brows pull low and Mike’s stomach begins twisting into a hard knot. “The war started _years_ ago, Commander. And if you value Motorcity scum over your commanding officer's orders, you're going to find yourself on the wrong side of it.” He lowers his voice as Mike stares at him in bewildered horror. “I took a risk on you, Mike.”

He's never called Mike by name before. Even now, like this, it sends a thrill down his spine, _he knows my name!_

“A lot of people think nonhumans can't handle the pressure and responsibility of your position. Don't prove them right. I can overlook one mistake. Carry out your orders and your future will stay bright, just like it is right now.” Mister Kane’s quiet voice is warm and persuasive, and it takes an effort to remember the problem.

Mike takes a deep breath, looks into the face of the man he respected, trusted, and believed in until now. His heart is a cold lump in his chest. “If I'd known your orders were to kill innocent people, I wouldn't have taken them in the first place,” he says, and Kane’s face twists with fury.

“ _Commander Jenzen_ ,” he snarls, “arrest him!”

Even with the motivation of his new promotion, Jenzen doesn't try very hard, and in exchange Mike doesn't break anything when he takes him down. Several Elites charge in to take his place, and Mike can fight three guys at once, yeah, but more are ready behind them, and some are holding their guns in a way that suggests their uncertainty about aiming at their previous commander is going to give way any minute now.

Before they can quite reach that point, Mike breaks away and runs for the nearer building. No one follows him, maybe reluctant to get near the dangerous Motorcity trash, maybe just aware the wrecking ball is revving up. The tenants are running out of time, he's got to hurry.

There's a woman in the hallway who turns and hisses at him, fangs and red eyes and leathery brown wings that materialize behind her, spreading out to block his way. It takes him a precious moment to fight down the instinct to _go for her wings, that's a vampire's weak point_ except she's not his _enemy!_

“I'm here to help!” he yells at her. “I can't stop them but I can help you guys get out!”

She stares at him with narrowed eyes for a second, and then there's a crash and the entire building shakes, the floor shivers underfoot. People in other parts of the building are yelling, children crying, and there's the sound of many running feet.

The vampire hisses again, this time not at him, and snaps, “Upstairs! The Agnihotri family is sick.”

Mike follows her down the hall and up the stairs at a run, passing a man who jerks back against the wall when he sees Mike's uniform. There's no time to reassure him, because there at the top of the stairs is a family huddled around a man collapsed on the floor. The woman tugging at his shoulder, trying to help him sit up, is wan and exhausted, face grey under her dark skin, and the three small children standing around her are wailing.

“Sita, it's all right,” the vampire says to her, bends and scoops the man off the floor. He mumbles something, closing his eyes, and she goes tearing back down the stairs.

The woman stands up and sways, and Mike catches her shoulder, steadying her. She blinks at him, eyes widening on his blue and whites.

“Come on,” he says, picking up two of the kids. “Lean on me, we gotta move!”

“Mari brought you,” she mutters, and nods. She hoists the third kid onto her hip, clutches at Mike’s shoulder for balance, and they start down the stairs as fast as they can manage.

The wrecking ball keeps booming, and each crash shakes everything. Mike desperately hopes everyone’s already out of the end of the building it's destroying.

“Back door’s this way,” Sita says at the bottom of the stairs, tugging him down a branching hallway, and keeps up when he breaks into a jog.

Outside, the vampire dives out of the sky and lands in front of them, empty-armed. There's a rush of air as her wings vanish. Behind her, a group of people carrying bags and children hurry around the corner of the building and out of sight.

“Is Rahul--” Sita starts anxiously.

“Dot Baker’s watching him, don't worry,” the vampire says, and holds out her arms. “Give me Savraj, you can barely walk.”

Mike steps forward, arms still laden with whimpering kids. “Is everyone out?” he says urgently as Sita hands her kid over to the vampire and sags, leaning on her.

The vampire frowns at him. “I'm pretty sure, yeah.”

“What about the other building?”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Since I don't think our neighbors are much dumber than us, probably so. What's it to you, anyway?” she tosses over her shoulder, walking away with Sita beside her.

“I was in charge,” Mike says, following them. “Since I couldn't stop the mission, I just--I have to make sure no one’s--everyone gets out okay.”

“Mm. Quiet now,” she says, and Mike realizes they're headed out from behind the building after the other fleeing tenants, passing across the edge of the clear space in plain view of Jenzen and the squad. Glancing around, he realizes that burdened with kids and whatever else they can carry, there's no other path away they can take.

Sita is practically hanging off the vampire's shoulder, stumbling even at a walk, they can't go any faster. Mike brings up the back, trying to hush the kid who's still crying, and clenches his teeth when there's a shout from an Elite. If they shoot, he'll have to turn his back, try to shield the kids.

“Sir!” the Elite says, and Mike looks over to see him looking uncertainly at Jenzen.

Jenzen stares at Mike. Mike holds his gaze steadily and keeps walking. They're halfway to the sheltering bulk of the other building, which hasn't begun to be demolished yet.

“Sir,” the Elite says, “what do you--should I--shoot?”

“At what?” Jenzen says, still watching Mike. He's a little too far away for Mike to read his expression.

“Uh,” the Elite says. “That's Chilton. We were supposed to--”

“Looks like Motorcity vermin to me,” Jenzen says, turning away. “Let ‘em run.”

“Yessir,” the Elite says.

Mike takes a breath and keeps walking.

Behind the shelter of the building, the vampire flicks her wings out and takes one of the kids from Mike. “I'll be right back,” she says, and takes off, wings whipping up gouts of dust from underfoot. Sita chokes and coughs and Mike catches her arm as her knees wobble.

“Shhh, Amrit,” she murmurs to the kid Mike is still holding. “We're going to stay with your Uncle Paresh for a while. You'll get to play with your cousin, won't that be nice? Give her to me,” she adds to Mike.

It doesn't seem like a good idea when she's barely staying upright, but Mike hands the little girl over, compromising with a hand on her mother's arm just in case. The crash of the wrecking ball on the other building suddenly adds a rending, shattering boom. Part of the roof must have come down, Mike realizes.

Sita’s face doesn't change as tears slide down her cheeks, and Mike’s stomach twists sickly. He can't fix this, and it feels like his fault.

He does his best to keep her on her feet as they follow after the others, and a minute later the vampire lands in front of them. 

“Come here, Sita,” she says briskly, and scoops the woman up in her arms, still carrying her daughter.

“Oh,” Sita says, head sagging against her shoulder, “are you sure--Mariam, you must be so tired--”

“Not hardly,” the vampire says. “Now relax.” She pauses, holding the woman and child with no sign of effort as she studies Mike. “You gonna follow them?” she says, tilting her head down the road at the straggling trail of refugees moving steadily away.

Mike blinks at her. “No?” he says, wondering if she still thinks he's a danger.

She rolls her eyes, pursing her lips at him. “Some of them are gonna need places to stay, and unless you're going back up above, so will you. They'll have a better idea how to go about it than you do,” she points out, and Mike is pretty sure she's saying things he should listen to, but he can't really take it in.

“I'll figure it out,” he says numbly, turns away and starts walking.

“Thank you for the help,” Sita calls after him, and then the wind blows past him overhead as Mariam takes to the sky, carrying her friend, and flies down the road and out of sight. 

_Unless you're going back up above_ , she said. Mike hadn't quite realized yet that he can't.

He can't go back to Deluxe, can't go home. He's given up his place in the cadets, as a Deluxe citizen, everything he had. There's not that much difference between him and the other people on this road right now. Except that he had a choice.

He _could_ have followed Kane’s order, like Jenzen, just--ignored all the innocent people in there, the kids, the--the _sick family_ , the parents too weak to _walk_ \--Mike bares his teeth, strips off his new shoulder patch and drops it in the dust. Then he takes off running, pounding out fury and betrayal and horror with every slam of his boots against the ground.

Kane is a liar, and Jenzen didn't care, and thanks to them a bunch of people have lost their homes today, and it could've been their lives. Mike did everything he could and it wasn't enough.

Sita and that man, her husband, probably--they were so sick, so weak and exhausted, and instead of being taken care of, they're fleeing for their lives. Up in Deluxe, they'd get the treatment they need and no one would be scaring them, pushing them out of their home or trying to _kill_ them. They'd be properly taken care of in the society Kane set up, but down here he’s willing for them to die, just because they're from Motorcity and not Deluxe. Mike is pretty sure they were human, too, or at least Sita was, but Kane didn't even bother to check.

Mike swallows and runs faster, jaw clenched. The road splits ahead, and since he doesn't think he's going to be very popular with the ex-tenants, he goes the other way.

 _Motorcity scum_ , Kane called them, and _thugs and monsters_ , Jenzen said, but they're _not_. And Mariam was a _vampire_ and she saved that family's lives. She's not some monster, she was helping them.

Kane is full of crap, and Jenzen believed him. Mike did too, until he saw what Kane was willing to do. But Jenzen didn't change his mind, didn't even _hesitate_. All this time Mike thought he knew him, thought he was a good guy and Mike could trust him to make the right call.

 _Motorcity vermin_ , he remembers, his gut clenching. But. Jenzen could have had that Elite shoot him, could've sent men to grab him with his arms full of wailing children, when he couldn't get away. It would've been easy to take him captive like that, to bring him back under arrest. Jenzen didn't do it, let him go, and Mike wants to dismiss it because of the insult he masked it with, but he can't.

Jenzen’s going to go back up there and report to Kane that Mike got away, and Kane isn't lenient with failure. He could demote Jenzen, give him demerits, ruin his career if Jenzen’s unlucky. And Jenzen knew that, and he let Mike go anyway. One final act of friendship, maybe.

It makes it even more bewildering that he turned out to be okay with knocking down a building with people inside. Because he justified it to himself, told himself those people weren't important, that they were trash.

They're not trash, any more than Mike is.

Any more than… Chuck is.

Mike slows down to a jog, because it feels like his throat is closing suddenly and he can't get enough air. Chuck was right all along, it looks like. Unaltered nonhumans aren't more dangerous than humans, or why did all the tenants flee? Even Mariam, strong and winged and seeming pretty brave, made no attempt to attack the squad. One vampire against a bunch of guys with guns might make a dent, but it wouldn't end well for the vampire.

Chuck was right. If Kane is cruel enough to give the orders he gave today, and cruel enough to enforce nonhumans--no, what did Chuck call them? Metahumans--being altered to look human for no good reason, the laws against using their powers probably aren't for anyone's good but his.

Chuck was right, and Mike was wrong, and it's too late to say he's sorry.

It seems really unfair that he should lose his two best friends to really similar disagreements, one because _he_ was wrong and stubborn and the other because Jenzen was. It hurts. Losing Jenzen like this _hurts_ , and it brings back echoes of the miserable confusion that lodged in his chest for weeks--months--after Chuck broke away from him.

Breath burning in his lungs, Mike slows to a walk. He's sweating, so he strips off the uniform overshirt and ties it clumsily around his waist, shoves up his sleeves. His fingers fumble like they're tired.

He looks around. The buildings he's passing have weird things painted on them, and there are lights in some of the windows, glimpses of people moving inside.

Mike’s head is pounding, he's thirsty, hungry. It's got to be about lunchtime, but he's not going to be eating with Jenzen and the other cadets, not going to move to the officers’ table. 

He was wrong about everything, and he's lost everything, including the last friend he thought was for good.

Wandering down a side street where the buildings are almost completely demolished, he wonders if Kane has sent squads down here before, if they did this. If everyone got out in time. God, his head hurts, he doesn't want to have to wonder about this stuff, wants Kane to not be an evil jerk. Wants to stop thinking.

There's a corner of one building intact, a dark doorway with a mostly whole ceiling, from what he can see, and it looks weirdly enticing right now. A dark little place he can slide into and curl up until his head stops throbbing and everything isn't terrible anymore.

Inside, he sees that the walls are cracked and there's an open hole where a window used to be, and the part of him instinctively looking for shelter twists uneasily, but he's too weirdly tired to look for something better. He sits down wedged into an intact corner, one eye on the window and open doorway, and something in him slowly relaxes.

There are things he needs to figure out, like how he's going to find a place to stay, where he's going to get food, if anyone will even be willing to help a Deluxian down here, especially when the only clothes he's got are his cadet’s uniform. He can't think about any of it right now, though.

He's not really sure what happens, he just… stops, for a while. Stops thinking, planning, wondering, and just sits there in the dark little room, breathing and resting and watching the door. 

It's dumb to go into hiding like this, to let the nonhuman take over and hole up like he's been hurt. He hasn't been hurt, the Elites who went for him after Jenzen couldn't touch him and Jenzen wasn't really trying. Mike’s got a bruise or two and that's it, he's not hurt. His headache doesn't count, and neither does the ache in his chest.

Still, he sits there drifting for a long while, and can't seem to pull it together to stop.

When he does sort of come to eventually, it's because his hunger has turned into a gnawing ball of teeth in his stomach and he feels… not good. His headache has gone away, but his skin keeps flashing hot and cold and when he tries to stand up everything spins and he's on all fours on the ground again. He wants to stand up, even though he doesn't know where to go, but standing up keeps not happening, and falling over hurts after a while. The best he can manage is to sit up against the wall again, and the corner holds him upright.

Wow, okay, this isn't the way things usually work. Something’s wrong.

Maybe he's too hungry? Cadets aren't supposed to skip meals, attendance is mandatory. People get shaky and weak if they go too long without food, it used to happen to Chuck, but Mike doesn't know where to get food down here.

Chuck never got so weak he couldn't stay on his feet, though. Mike abruptly remembers Sita, hanging off Mariam’s shoulder, going almost limp in her arms, remembers the man with her who couldn't even stand up. God, Mike had better not be sick. He doesn't know how to get help down here, isn't sure if there's a Medical Department to report to.

It could be… bad, if he's sick, he thinks. He doesn't have a Mariam to help him. Doesn't even know where to find food or water--geez, he really is hungry, too.

Although he can't be sure which kind of hunger it is. He never did figure out how to tell easily.

It can't be the other hunger, though, that's right. Mike’s on those suppressants the techie talked about, he hasn't noticed that hunger since the first weeks after he joined the Corps. He was forgetting. God, he feels really weird. Dizzy and starved and not good.

He needs food, food would help, he thinks, even if he is sick. But he can't stand, can't go get some even if he knew where to go. And he doesn't have any friends, doesn't even know anyone down here.

...Except Chuck. Chuck lives down here now. 

Chuck’s mad at him, though. He’s not Mike’s friend anymore.

But Mike needs help. Maybe Chuck will be willing to help him? Especially if Mike apologizes for the fight, for believing in Kane when he was just a lying jerk.

Mike can't lose anything more by trying, anyway.

His skin is starting to burn, not quite painful but edgy and hot, and his shirt feels stifling suddenly, even with the sleeves pushed up, so he pulls it off. Then he brings up a comm screen and opens a line to Chuck. It goes through, which is good, Chuck still hasn't blocked him. He doesn't pick up, though, and eventually it asks if Mike wants to leave a message.

Same as ever. Crap. There's probably no point in leaving a message, there never was before, but he has to, he needs to talk to Chuck--and he really _wants_ to talk to Chuck, he misses him a lot, wants to tell him he's sorry--even if there's only a small chance he'll listen to the message, Mike has to try, doesn't he? He's not really thinking clearly, he can't be sure. He picks ‘yes’.

 _Recording_ , it flashes at the top of the screen, and Mike grins like a dope and says, “Hey, buddy!”


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck tries to ignore the little blinking light on his screen, the one that tells him Mike is leaving a message. He's making some upgrades to the alarm systems in Jacob’s garage, and he doesn't have the time to watch Mike being confused and reproachful and sad at him. ...Even if it was a good idea to answer a cadet’s call when you're somewhere that looks nothing like Deluxe. Which it's not, obviously. Chuck’s not an idiot, no matter how badly he misses his moron of a best friend.

Geez, he's still talking? What the heck does he have to say that's taking him so long?

He can't be calling Chuck up after all this time to try to continue that friggin’ argument. He only tried that once, the other messages were all requests to talk or hang out.

But what else would keep him talking so long? Even when he was staring miserably at the screen the whole time, he didn't really get rambly, just made his request, a comment or a question about how things were going and then signed off. Is Chuck’s comm malfunctioning? He can't check while it's in use. Trying to stay focused on the upgrades, he pretends his stomach isn't winding into knots.

He hates to admit it, but part of it is excitement. He hasn't seen Mike in--ages, geez, more than a year--and if Mike has decided to pretend the argument never happened and just give Chuck a life update when he didn't pick up--which would be so like Mike, god. Just decide the unpleasant thing doesn't matter any more and move on like everything's fine. If he's doing that, even though it's annoying, Chuck won't mind finding out how he is, how the pretending-to-be-human life is treating him.

Of course, the much greater portion of the tension is anxiety. What if he _is_ yelling, what if he somehow found out Chuck ran and he's pissed, what if he's demanding Chuck return to Deluxe, turn himself in, or they _know where he is_ , they're coming to fetch him now--

No, that's stupid, _stop_. Breathing hard, he rubs a hand over his mouth, eyes on that little blinking light--which flickers off. _Thank_ you, geez.

Okay. No one is finding this place, Jacob’s very careful with his security. If Mike is being a jerk in the recording, all Chuck has to do is delete it. He doesn't have to watch the whole thing, or hold onto it, or anything. He doesn't owe Mike anything.

Slowing down his breathing, he thinks that all through until it feels a little more solid and believable, then hits play before he can change his mind.

The screen pops up, Mike grins out of the recording at Chuck and he's _shirtless_. And somewhere really weirdly dark for mid-afternoon in Deluxe; the light on his face is mostly from the comm screen.

“Hey, buddy!” he says, and Chuck’s mouth pulls up reluctantly at the edges, half the tension in his stomach dissolving. No yelling here. God, Mike is such a dork.

“I, uh, wow,” he goes on, “I really wish you'd picked up, haha.” Smile shrinking a little, he pushes a hand through his hair. “This’d be a lot easier if you were, like, talking to me instead of…” He waves a hand vaguely and Chuck frowns. Is that hand shaking?

He looks kind of off, actually, and he's talking like he's exhausted or really distracted or something, not tracking or phrasing his thoughts easily. There's something not right about his eyes, like they can't quite focus. His head drops a little and the light from the screen flashes green off his slitted pupils--which, wow, are dilated wider than Chuck’s ever seen them.

“God, everything's so weird--oh, because, yeah.” He blinks, smile vanishing entirely. “I think I might be sick. I can't stand up, and I keep fallin’ over, and my skin is all… weird…” Frowning, he brushes a hand across his chest and makes a little huffing sound, and Chuck’s eyes widen. That bit doesn't sound like he's sick, exactly...

“I'm all dizzy and weak,” Mike goes on, “and I can't, like, balance right, and there was this lady who was really sick and she couldn't walk very far, she had to lean on me and her friend, so I guess maybe I caught it from her?”

Now Chuck wishes he'd picked up, because if Mike _is_ sick he needs to report to Medical like _now_ , why is he calling Chuck about this? Also, what lady? When did Mike run into someone who was that sick and out walking around instead of getting proper care?

“Or…” Mike pauses. “I guess I could be hungry?” he says doubtfully. “Maybe?” He smiles out at Chuck, small and sheepish. “I mean, I _know_ I'm hungry, and I guess that could be all. You used to get all shaky and stuff when you were too hungry, maybe it's like that. And I thought maybe--like, I dunno how anything works down here, so I was thinking you could probably help me out--”

Chuck has to pause the message. His face is hot and he can't stop staring at Mike’s frozen image, shirtless and clueless and _way_ hotter than Chuck remembers, he's really been filling out in the last year, and now that Chuck’s looking, he does look a little… overheated, doesn't he. Flushed and pupils dilated and _distracted_ , oh god. The incubus is hungry, and he thought of _Chuck_. Why?! Chuck is stuck down here in Motorcity! And also, it's crazy for Mike to want Chuck in the first place! Sure Chuck used to feed him when they lived together, but ‘I'll think of you when I get myself off’ is really different than ‘hey let's get horizontal’ which looks like… what he must be…

...Wait. Is it just a false rumor, then, that cadets are kept on a chemical leash with libido suppressants? And if it isn't true, he has to have been keeping fed somehow, with someone, maybe multiple someones. Why has he decided to call up Chuck this time? And how does he manage to look so completely artless and innocent saying something like ‘I don't know how things work down here’, without even a bashful gesture between his legs…?

Frowning, Chuck backs it up a little, then hits play again.

“--down here, so I was thinking you could probably help me out. Think I missed lunch, haha. Maybe you can show me where people get food, how that works, if I, uh,” Mike blinks, bites his lip, “if I need… I don't have any citizen's points down here. Ah, geez.”

Chuck’s eyes are round and he has to hit pause again to gasp for breath, heart trying to pound right through his ribs. He enhances the image as much as possible, and--the wall behind Mike has cracks in it and a patch of old paint trailing off one edge of the screen, absolutely unDeluxian.

Mike is in Motorcity. Holy _crap_. And in bad shape. And... he knows Chuck is here, too, he _did_ find out somehow.

Play. “See, I'm just, like, completely out of, uh. My depth, here.” Mike blinks, huffs quietly like he's uncomfortable, shifts position and almost loses his balance, thumping back hard against the wall. “Oof. And, like, I really hope it's just hunger, because if I'm sick… what do people do down here? Will anyone even be willing to treat me? I mean, the only clothes I've got are a cadet’s uniform.” Mike chews on his lip, eyes wide and dark and not quite focusing.

Chuck swallows hard.

“I just--I don't know what to do,” Mike murmurs. “And I know you'll know. You always know stuff.” Closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the wall.

Chuck stuffs his fist in his mouth to keep from whimpering or shrieking. Mike looks so worn out, and now that Chuck knows his situation, that flush looks more feverish than aroused. He makes himself keep watching. The message wasn't _that_ long, and Mike might have more information about his condition.

A few long seconds go by. Mike makes another discomforted sound and shifts again, and then his eyes snap open and he stares at Chuck. “I'm sorry,” he says, firmly, urgently, and tries to push himself upright, away from the wall, sways and falls back. “Oof, dang it--Chuck, I'm sorry. You were right. I didn't know. Kane--you were right about him. The laws about nonhu-- _meta_ humans--I'm not sure anymore, about those powers being that dangerous. And if he didn't make the laws for safety, then he did it for control.”

His eyes drop, lips twisting down. “Which sucks. I thought he was more than that. Better. And Jenzen too, I--I really liked him.” He draws a breath and it shakes.

Chuck… was beginning to wonder if he was hallucinating, except he has no idea who Jenzen is. His subconscious would never have given him a sick Mike, though, and there's nothing dreamlike about any part of this situation outside of Mike’s message--if Chuck listens, there's the faint sound of Jacob humming to himself up in the kitchen, and the garage looks the same as always, empty aside from Sasquatch and the two piles of junk Jacob swears he can turn into functional cars if he just gets the time.

Mike swallows in the video, looks up and tries to smile. “So, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was talking about. I mean, I thought I did, but--I should’ve listened to you. You've always been the smart one, I shoulda known you knew what was going on better than I did.”

Chuck has been waiting to hear something like that from Mike for a really long time, ever since that first fight. But the times he indulged himself in imagining this moment, it always felt a lot more triumphant and a lot less like something with corners and sharp edges was lodged in his chest. Granted, the surge of hot affection that comes along with it isn't so bad, even if Chuck has to blink rapidly, but the expression on Mike’s face, the shaky, unhappy smile and the way he's listing against the wall--god. It's an agonizing combination.

Mike tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes again. “I really miss you,” he says quietly. “I get it if you're still mad at me, I'll just have to make it up to you. If you'll let me. I hope you do, I… huh.” His eyes open and he frowns. “Geez, I… this is seriously so weird,” he mutters.

Chuck opens his mouth to say _What is? Mikey are you okay?_ and clamps it shut, grateful that he's alone.

Mike shifts again, more of a squirm this time, face flushed and sweaty. He's breathing harder now. “Anyway, I--I'm not going back. If you were wonderin’. Haha, geez, I wonder if you'll even get this, if you listened to any of these. Maybe you'll just delete it. ‘Oops, bye, Mike!’ That would… kinda suck. Guess I'll figure something out, though.” He huffs softly between his teeth, and mutters, “Stoppit, geez. I'm on the, the stuff, this isn't supposed to… _ngh_.”

Chuck’s eyes go round. _Oh._ Okay, that's... pretty clear, although how the heck Mike found out about the libido suppressants is definitely a question for a later time. Mike may be sick, but also, no matter what he’s assuming about only being hungry like a human, his incubus side is ravenous. _Wow_. That's. A thing.

In the video, he chews on his lip, bare chest heaving. “I hope you're doin’ okay, buddy. I don't know if you'll want to help me, but I couldn't… I had to call, had to try. I, uh, if you want to call me back, that'd be great.” His voice is a lot more breathless than it started out, and it's... having an effect on Chuck, now that he knows it's probably incubus-related. Like the expanse of naked, flushed skin wasn't doing the trick already. “And, y’know, if you _don't_ want to help, or call back… that's okay. I mean, you never called me back before, but I get it this time. I--I couldn't, I _didn't_ help you, when you needed it, and you had to run down here, so. I get it. It's okay.”

Chuck’s eyes widen. Mike knows what happened, too, why he ran.

His head rolls a little to the side and Chuck swallows at the smooth curve of his neck. Mike’s voice drops. “...but I really hope you'll forgive me. I want to make it up to you. ...ahh, I said that already. This is dumb, I better just stop talking and--see ya, maybe.” He lifts a hand, which definitely isn't as steady as it should be, and the recording ends. Replay? says the screen.

Chuck just stares at it for a minute, breathing, before dropping the screen. Okay. Mike is in Motorcity, all bets are off. He's starving and possibly sick and Chuck needs to call him back as soon as he can, but first he has to stop thinking about the sheen of sweat over all that olive skin and the way Mike kept shifting and twisting, needing something he wasn't getting, and--okay, _no_ , the point is Mike needs _help_. And not that kind of help! Or--possibly that kind of help, but-- _agh_.

In exasperation at his stupid preoccupied brain, Chuck goes to talk to Jacob.

“Mike’s in trouble, and he's down here in Motorcity,” he says when he walks into the kitchen.

Jacob looks up from the fruity smelling thing he's stirring on the stove and blinks. “This’d be your cadet friend, the incubus one?”

“Yeah, he left me a message.” Chuck runs a hand through his hair. “I don't know what he's doing here, or how long since he came down--it can't have been long, actually,” he adds, frowning, “he was joking about missing lunch. But Jacob, he's _messed up_ \--he might be sick, he said he's dizzy and weak, like, enough he can't stand up. And, uh, the incubus part seems really hungry.” He swallows.

Jacob mutters a few swear words under his breath, turns off the stove and puts a lid on the pot. “Suppressants might be wearing off,” he says, crossing his arms. He gives Chuck a narrow-eyed look and Chuck hunches automatically, even though he knows it's not him Jacob’s pissed at. “How do you know he's hungry?”

“He was, um, kind of flushed and sweaty and kept shifting around,” Chuck says, face warming. “And his shirt was off. Which is atypical for Mike. I thought it might be a fever at first, but um. It's not. And also he _said_ he's hungry and he's never been any good at telling the difference between hungry for food and for--the other stuff.”

Jacob’s lips go thin. “That's it, then. Kid’s not sick like an illness, he's just feeling the side effects of coming off those dang drugs. And of being that hungry, maybe, since I guess he hasn't fed right in a while.”

Chuck stares at him. That would be a huge relief, but-- “That doesn't make any sense, though. If he's only been down here since the morning, why would it happen so fast?”

“Designed that way,” Jacob growls. “Keeps them on a real short leash, the stuff’s probably in their food. Miss a meal and they start coming off it, getting sick, feeling crummy.” He frowns darkly, scratching his mustache. “How old is he? You got any idea how much incubus he is?”

“Uh--sixteen now, I think, and no?”

“Sixteen,” Jacob mutters. “No way to know, but if it's been suppressed for a few months--”

“More than a year, he got into the Corps early.”

“Dang it,” Jacob says. “That's no good. We better--ah, hmm.”

“I can track his comm signal,” Chuck offers, “we can go get him now, bring him back here--”

Jacob puts up a hand to cut him off. His eyes are locked on Chuck’s face, studying him uncomfortably closely. “Assuming you don't get real distracted as soon as we get near him.”

Chuck’s face makes a strong attempt to catch fire. “Jacob! I can--I can focus better than--”

“Because he's an _incubus_ , kid,” Jacob says, rolling his eyes. “I know you're meta too, but that doesn't mean he can't affect you.”

Oh. Mike never had that kind of power before, but he's older now, and Jacob is right, being suppressed for that long could have all kinds of weird effects.

“I guess the important question is,” Jacob says levelly, “if this kid was human and fine and just wanted to have some sex, would you be okay doing that?”

Chuck’s face is going to melt off. Why is Jacob making him _talk_ about this, why is this happening? It takes a couple of tries before he gives up trying to talk and just nods, hunching into himself. It's Mike, and he _apologized_. For _everything_. Chuck would agree to sex with him in a nanosecond.

Jacob lets out a breath and nods back. “Well, that's one less thing to worry about, then.”

Chuck straightens abruptly. “Oh, but--um, if that's what he needs, I don't--he's probably not interested in me.”

“You're the only one he knows down here, right? You're the one he called.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean he--”

“You're who's on offer, kid,” Jacob says gently, and sighs at Chuck’s dismayed look. “Look, you can try to work it out with him when you get there. We don't know for sure what's going on or what he'll need. Maybe we'll be able to bring him back here right away, maybe he'll be fine. Go ahead and get started tracking that signal, I'll grab a few supplies in case.”

Chuck hesitates. He doesn't want to even consider Jacob and what they're talking about in the same thought, much less-- “What, um, kind of supplies?”

Jacob snorts. “Blanket if he's cold or in shock, water, some food. _You_ can grab the other stuff.”

Chuck does not have time to die of embarrassment right now, but oh _god_ he wishes he did.

Ten minutes later they're supplied and in Sasquatch, heading out to Mike’s location at a semi-ridiculous speed, and Chuck steels himself to call Mike back.

It takes a minute for Mike to pick up. He’s flushed and dazed-looking, but his face lights up when he sees Chuck.

“Hey, buddy,” he says breathlessly. “You called back. Man, it's so good to see you, you have no idea.”

Chuck smiles awkwardly back. God, what does he say. “Um, yeah, you too,” he mumbles, and goes hot all over at how _stupid_ that is to say to the guy who's really not doing well right now.

Before Chuck can recover from his mortification and say anything useful, Mike’s smile drops away, his face going intent and anxious. “Chuck, you gotta help me, I think I'm seriously sick or something, I can't even sit up, dude. I keep thinking it'll get better, it'll, like, the dizziness will go away, but it isn't, I feel _awful_. I dunno what you guys do down here--do you even have medical techs? Do you think they'll help me? Maybe if you can find me something else to wear--if, I mean, I guess--if you… were gonna help.” He stops, bites his lip and tries to smile.

Chuck’s chest hurts. “Mikey, of course I'm gonna help you, dude. Don't be an idiot.” He swallows at the way Mike goes all bright and relieved, smiling gratefully at him. “Look, I'm on my way, okay, and I'm bringing you some food and stuff, but uh. You're not actually sick, you don't need to worry about that, it's just the--”

The relief vanishes. “No, I--Chuck, I _am_ , I feel all--maybe I didn't say it right in the message. I'm dizzy and I can't think straight and I--things hurt, I mean the headache’s gone but my skin aches and I can't stand up--”

“No,” Chuck says, “I mean--Mike, I _know--_ ” He tries to cut in, explain, but Mike thinks he doesn't believe him or doesn't care or something, just keeps trying to persuade him. Mike’s never been sick before aside from one case of the sniffles when he was a kid, and he sounds close to panicked, it _sucks_.

Chuck finally grits his teeth and raises his voice to interrupt, snapping, “Mike, _listen_ to me!”

Mike’s eyes widen and he closes his mouth, flinching a little where he's half-lying against the wall--he's slid down much further than he was in the video message. He watches Chuck cautiously like he's waiting for a tirade, like he thinks the price of Chuck’s help is probably a lot of yelling.

Partly in defiance of that look, Chuck takes a deep breath and speaks as calmly as he can. “The way you're feeling, the dizziness and weakness and all that, it's probably--a combination of things, okay, but mostly withdrawal. The suppressants they keep the cadets on? Those are wearing off, and what you're feeling is the side effects. You came down here today, right?”

Mike nods, frowning, and Chuck lets go of the vague worry that he misunderstood, that Mike was understating when he said he'd missed a single meal and he'd been down here for days already without help.

Chuck explains what Jacob said about the suppressants being in the cadets’ food and made to break down quickly if they skip a meal. Mike’s face darkens.

“Another way to control people,” he mutters, and Chuck nods.

“So that's probably the main reason you feel bad, and the other one is, um. Look, I'm guessing you weren't feeding, since you got into the Corps.”

Mike blinks, frowns a little, then starts like he finally got it and shakes his head. Crap, he's really out of it.

“Yeah.” Chuck sighs. “So the incubus part of you is...”

Mike's eyes round and his mouth opens. “Oh.”

“...Really hungry, which might also be causing some of the issues you're dealing with. Including, I mean, I bet if you were fed properly and up to strength, you'd be metabolizing the drug way faster and the symptoms would be getting better instead of worse. Which means,” he tries to keep his voice steady and not squeak, “if we can just get you fed, you should start feeling better pretty soon.”

Mike’s expression twists unhappily. “I mean, I guess I was…” He trails off, makes a little breathy sound, shifting against the wall. “...I got the feeling the incubus was… bein’ a problem, yeah. But… how’m I gonna get fed, down here? I don't, I can't even move, how do I get some place people are gonna--”

“You don't,” Chuck says, losing the battle against squeaking. “You don't have to go anywhere, bro, I'm coming to you. I'll h-help you out.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “What, like you used to? You--you stopped doing that, though, I don't wanna make you--that _sucks_ , dude! I didn't mean to make you come and do that stuff for me!”

Chuck swallows, looking at his flushed cheeks, the bare chest Chuck has only imagined running his hands over about five hundred times or so, the eyes that are a thin ring of pale brown around hungry black. “It's not a big deal,” he tries.

Mike looks even more distressed. “No, it is! I don't want to--you shouldn't have to do anything you don't want, down here, that's why you left!” One hand is rubbing back and forth across his chest, and then it slides down over his ribs, down his abdomen, and past where Chuck can see. Mike keeps shifting, almost a slow writhe, and his eyes go unfocused as he sucks in a breath through bared teeth. He doesn't look like he's feeling good. It looks more like pain, discomfort that he doesn't know how to fix and can't ignore.

“Look,” Chuck says, pulling his brain back online by force of will, “we can talk about that in a minute, we'll be there soon, okay? Just--just hold on.”

“Don't go,” Mike gasps, “please buddy, stay, stay with me? This is just--it's weird, I don't f-feel good. If you could stay…”

“Okay, Mikey,” Chuck says, only sounding a little strained. “I'll stay right here.”

Mike lets out a long sigh, smiles in relief. “Thanks.” He's quiet a minute, then blinks and says hesitantly, “Hey, uh. You--of course you got the message, you wouldn't have called me otherwise.”

He's still watching Chuck like he's not sure, though, so Chuck nods.

Mike nods slowly. “Good, okay. So, you know I--I'm really sorry.”

Chuck has to swallow again. “Yeah, bro, I know. It's okay.”

Mike’s lashes flutter and he gasps quietly, twists against the wall and makes a noise through his teeth halfway between a groan and a growl. It takes him a minute to focus on Chuck again, but then he frowns and blinks hard like he can force his mind to work.

“Is it, though? It had to suck, dude, havin’ me just ignore what you were saying.”

Chuck grimaces. “Yeah, but it also wasn't cool of me to just--cut you off like that. We were both miserable, and it didn't actually help anything. If I'd just kept talking to you, maybe I could've shown you some stuff, brought you around eventually. Mikey,” he says, lifting a hand when Mike seems ready to keep arguing, “I--I forgive you, okay?”

Mike’s whole face softens when he smiles this time. “Thanks,” he says softly, and Chuck smiles helplessly back.

“Hoo boy,” Jacob mutters from the driver's seat. “Something tells me this is the place.”

Chuck looks out the windshield as the truck slows to a crawl, and frowns. They're moving slowly down one of the old ruined streets, but he's not sure what makes Jacob say that. He doesn't seem to mean the fact that they're almost on top of Mike’s signal.

“Why, what's the--” Chuck starts, and cuts off when Jacob gives him a disbelieving look.

“That's some powerful vibe your friend’s throwing out there, if an old codger like me can feel it.”

Chuck blinks, makes a squeaky noise as he abruptly gets it, and reevaluates the heat seeping through him as maybe not being wholly caused by Mike’s naked chest and half-lidded eyes on the comm screen.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says.

Jacob stops the truck. “Maybe you better go on from here. I'll just head on back, you can call me when you're ready for a pick up--if he's putting out something this strong, there's no way this ain't going to take a while.”

Mike makes a muffled noise and catches his breath. “Chuck, what--”

“I'll be there in just a sec, bro,” Chuck says hastily, and scrambles out of the truck, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. He slams the door behind him and Jacob reverses, pulls around and drives off fast. Geez, he seemed kind of freaked out. Whatever field Mike’s putting out probably affects humans more strongly. Or maybe Chuck is just used to being turned on around Mike and it seems normal to him. That definitely wouldn't seem normal to Jacob, though. Ack. Chuck cuts that line of thought off fast.

“Okay,” he says to Mike on the screen hovering in front of him, and glances around the street. “It looks like you're inside, but I don't see much here that's intact.”

“‘S’a little piece, just one room, one corner,” Mike says, breathless and strained.

Chuck spots an intact chunk of building down the street and starts walking towards it. The heat curling through his body grows.

“Okay,” he says, and swallows, nerving himself up for the next piece of the conversation. “Um. You--since you're kind of in rough shape, we probably--we need to get you fed as fast as possible. I'm not, um, I don't think the old way is gonna be enough. We can still try it, but…”

Mike huffs softly and bites his lip, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again, dark and dazed. “Okay, what, uh, what should we do?”

Chuck bites back the groan, because Mike isn't exactly in top form right now, of _course_ Chuck has to explain everything to him. “We're probably going to need to have sex,” he says, voice high-pitched and cracking, and only keeps from giggling hysterically by reminding himself that Mike doesn't have a _choice_ about it. Then it stops being funny.

Mike’s eyes go round. “Whoa. Like, uh--wow. For real? You think that's--?”

Chuck swallows again and nods. “That's what incubi need. I mean, being _around_ sex was obviously enough when you were younger, but, um, you've been starving now, so. You probably need something more, uh, direct.” Thinking about it only adds to the heat coiling tighter in his gut.

“Whoa,” Mike says again, and he’s quiet for a minute, shifting restlessly while he takes that in. Then his eyes widen again and he gives Chuck a dismayed look. “Oh, but--you shouldn't, you don't--Chuckles, you shouldn't have to do that, that _sucks_ \--”

 _You_ shouldn't have to, Chuck takes note. Like that's even conceivably a problem here, much less _the_ problem. “Mikey, I _want_ to,” he mutters, face hot.

“Because you're trying to help me, not because you want me!” Mike groans.

“Dude, are you nuts?” Chuck snaps. On the screen, Mike's face is full of distress and he keeps twisting and gasping, hands brushing over his skin, pulling away sharply, touching again like he can't get relief no matter what he does. “Of course I want you, I've wanted you since we were _kids_.”

His pants are so tight it hurts to walk now, and the pounding need is too strong to be due to the conversation, or to watching Mike. It's whatever Mike is doing, that power sent out by the hungry incubus. The closer he gets to Mike, the hotter Chuck’s body flushes, and the more bizarrely tempting it is to just shove a hand down his pants. He ignores it and keeps walking.

“You--what?” Mike says. He stares at Chuck like it never even occurred to him as a possibility that Chuck might have an incredibly persistent thing for him. Chuck’s chest tightens. That doesn't speak well for the chances of Mike having any interest in _him_ , not that that was likely to start with.

“But--” Mike starts, “okay, but even if you did at one point, you stopped again, right? Cuz, you had a thing for that guy! The programmer, the one who wanted you to sing for him.”

Chuck stares at the screen, exasperation briefly overwhelming desire. “Stephen?! What the--okay, _yes_ I had a crush on him for a couple of months, but what does that have to do with you?”

“You can't-- _nnh_ \--want two people at once,” Mike says, like it's a natural law.

“Uh, yes you _can_ ,” Chuck says. “Are you kidding, I've wanted like _four_ people at the same time. I fed you _while_ I had a thing for Stephen, did you not remember that?”

He's almost up to the big, half-demolished building now, and realizes that a couple of plots beyond it is a place that looks more like Mike described, just a few broken walls around one intact corner, one small room. He walks faster, almost jogging, and the waves of want keep getting stronger, so that's got to be the right place.

Mike moans roughly and cuts it off, teeth bared, breathing hard. “God,” he mutters, and rallies again. “Yeah, I remember, but you did that a lot, you--I thought you were just bein’ nice.”

Chuck does not slap a hand over his eyes in exasperation because he trips often enough as it is, but he does flail his arms around. “Being _nice?_ Being nice, by thinking about my best friend while I--did that? Being nice by thinking about you doing stuff with me, thinking about you all sweaty and out of breath and looking at me--yeah, bro, that sounds totally charitable of me. Wow, what a guy, fantasizing about his best friend like that--and I couldn't even hide it unless I was like, across Deluxe, if you were around you always knew!”

“Oh,” Mike says softly. “You--oh.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Chuck groans, “you didn't even know that's what I was doing, did you.” He slows down, moving past the broken front wall of the building. “I was just glad you weren't disgusted, and now it turns out you never even realized. Great. That's--really great.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mike pants, “it really is! Dude, that's awesome!”

That doesn't make much sense, but at least he's not grossed out about it. Chuck can hear his voice coming from the dark doorway just ahead, fainter than from the screen and an instant ahead, the call lagging behind.

“Okay,” Chuck says, and shuts off the call. “I'm here.”

Taking a deep breath, he steps inside and squints into the indistinct shadows of the room.

“Chuck,” Mike sighs, and Chuck finds the dark shape of him over in a corner, half curled on the floor. The white of his cadet uniform pants outlines his legs, but his bare top half blends into the darkness.

Being this close to him is kind of like getting an electric shock to the crotch, except _good_. Chuck staggers and makes a thin little noise at the back of his throat.

“ _Ah!_ ” Mike says, sharp and astonished, and the shape of him twists. “God, yeah, Chuck, please!”

Hands shaking, Chuck raises a screen, changes the color to white, dials up the brightness and sets it to be stationary in the middle of the room. Then he turns to Mike, who looks like something out of Chuck’s fantasies in the light from the screen. Pants shoved down his thighs, he's hard and writhing, hands skating over his skin and wincing away again.

...The floor around him in that corner is free of the grit and rubble that’s scattered across the rest of the room. Swept clear, like even when he's sick and dizzy and losing it, he still managed to clean up. Chuck vaguely remembers from his spate of research something about incubi wanting a cozy little sex den to feed in, being particular about how it's furnished and decorated, and here's Mike stuck in an abandoned shell of a room that doesn't even have a door. Of course, Mike’s always tidied things when he's upset or out of sorts, even more so once he started in the Junior Cadets, so it could be that, too. Either way, it makes Chuck’s chest ache.

“What do you need?” he says, dropping to his knees beside Mike and setting the satchel down. It seems weird to open his own pants without being asked even though that's why he's here and hesitating is _dumb_. He still can't do it.

“I--I don't--it hurts,” Mike says.

“What hurts?” Chuck says, double-checking as he sets a hand carefully on Mike’s side, trying for comfort--and Mike groans softly, relaxing back against the floor.

“I--dunno, everything, it aches everywhere-- Please, that feels so good, can you--t-touch me? More?”

Okay, that was not the answer Chuck expected. Keeping his touch light, he slides his hands up Mike’s abdomen and chest, over his shoulders.

“Everything? Really?” Mike nods, biting his lip, and Chuck takes a breath and tries to stay focused. “But this is helping?”

“Yes, god, buddy,” Mike sighs.

Chuck swallows hard and keeps going. Every minute he expects Mike to shift, look amused or annoyed and say _Okay, not_ everything _, not my neck, not there, Chuck, come on_ , but he doesn't. Instead he presses up into Chuck’s hands with half-closed eyes as though every touch is yearned for, craved. Lashes fluttering, his head turns into Chuck’s palm as Chuck strokes his face cautiously, his arms twist and lift as Chuck strokes down them, helping him get the undersides.

Chuck’s hands slide down Mike’s sides and hesitate. Mike’s dick is hard and flushed, and if everything else hurts, surely…

“Should I, uh,” he says, looking at Mike.

Mike's eyes widen and he blinks, taking a deep breath. “Oh,” he says, glances down his body and back up at Chuck before smiling a little. “Yeah, I guess we're--doing that, right. I keep forgetting, I can--we can do that stuff now. Down here.”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, “you're not in the barracks anymore. Um, was that a yes?”

Mike hesitates. “Maybe--try it.”

That's definitely not a wholehearted endorsement, okay. Chuck reaches out cautiously, brushes fingertips up from its base--jerks back wide-eyed when Mike hisses, hips twitching away.

“Sorry! Sorry, you okay?”

 _“Nnh--_ not your fault, dude,” Mike says, panting. “Worth a shot.”

Wow, that doesn't seem like a good thing, for an incubus. Hands flexing anxiously on his own thighs, Chuck nibbles his lip and says, “Does it do that when you touch it?”

“Worse,” Mike says, and catches his breath, back arching a little as he twists in discomfort.

God, Chuck is right here and he's still not helping to fix this. He swallows, setting his jaw, and opens his jeans, whimpering softly as he frees his aching dick. Mike's head snaps around, attention suddenly riveted, which makes sense, but is still kind of _oh wow_. Chuck goes a little breathless.

Mike has been starving, so Chuck may as well stop messing with the symptoms and deal with the cause. He'll try feeding Mike like he always has, see how much that fixes.

Rationally he knows it makes sense, but it still feels selfish to be touching himself, making himself feel good--until a second later Mike gasps and arches sharply.

“Chuck! Please, yeah--” He's pushing himself up on his elbows, shaky, eyes locked on Chuck’s hand, wrapped around himself and stuttering in its movement. “Please can I--” Mike says, glancing up at him even as he reaches out, and before Chuck can even nod his hand is tugging Chuck’s aside, curling around his dick--

Before Mike even strokes, Chuck comes like being struck by lightning, shattered and senseless. When he opens his eyes, heaving for breath, he's lying on the floor next to Mike, who's making soft sighing noises of relief, and--oh god--whose hand is still on Chuck’s dick.

“Oh,” Mike murmurs, “ohhh man, ah. That's--so much better, geez.” His hand shifts, fingers moving just slightly, and Chuck whimpers.

“Ah--um, can you maybe, uh-- _ah!_ Mikey! Gonna need a minute!”

Mike guiltily lets go. “Oh. Sorry. Doesn't look like it.”

Chuck frowns at him, glances down and--huh. Chuck’s dick is still hard. That's not typical. “Are you still hungry?” he asks Mike.

Mike’s eyes slide away from his, and then Mike sighs and nods. “Think so, yeah.”

Which probably explains that. Mike’s still hungry and therefore still putting out that want in the air, which is having certain physical effects on Chuck. Okay.

“That's not a problem, bro,” he says, “I was just checking.”

Mike looks back at him, dark eyes searching his face. “Was that okay? I didn't--I should’ve waited for you to answer, but I just--”

“Mike, oh my god,” Chuck groans, cutting him off. “First, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't okay with--” he swallows, sucks in a quick breath, “--pretty much whatever you want to do.” God, he sounds so lame and desperate. Good thing Mike doesn't really have any options besides him. Haha. Yeah, great. Man, Chuck is gross to be enjoying this when Mike doesn't have a choice.

Mike smiles, reaching cautiously out, hand hovering above Chuck’s waist until he nods. “Really?” Mike says, sliding his hand under Chuck’s shirt, up his belly to his chest. “Like this, is this okay?”

Chuck is so skinny, why would Mike want to--incubus, Chuck reminds himself, hungry incubus. He's probably feeding on how much Chuck likes this.

“Yeah,” he squeaks.

“Cool,” Mike says, pleased. “What else? You said ‘first’,” he explains to Chuck’s blank look.

“Oh.” Yeah, okay, fair. Mike’s hand is just resting on Chuck’s chest under his shirt, very warm against his skin. Chuck tries to remember what he was saying. “Oh, right. Second, you've been _starving_ , dude. I don't care if you get a little grabby, it's--” almost like you want me, no not saying that “--kinda hot.”

“Huh,” Mike says, sliding his hand from side to side on Chuck’s chest. “Cool.” His thumb rubs over a nipple and Chuck gasps and twitches. Mike’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Speaking of hot.”

So he does it again, and again, and Chuck makes stupid noises and jerks and flails until he finally shoves both hands over his face.

“Hey, what's up?” Mike says, stopping. “Why are you hiding, dude?”

“Gee, I wonder,” Chuck mutters into his hands.

“Chuck, seriously. I--it's turning you on, I can feel it, I thought that meant you liked it. I'll stop if you don't like it.”

Chuck lets out a shaky sigh. “It's fine, Mikey, I'm just--being dumb.”

Mike pulls his hand out from under Chuck’s shirt and Chuck drops his hands, heart sinking. Wow, it took an impressively short period of time for him to mess that up.

“You're upset,” Mike says. “Tell me what I did wrong and I won't do it again.” He offers Chuck a small, uncertain smile. “I'm probably not very good at this, incubus or not. You're gonna have to be patient with me.”

Chuck blinks at him for a moment, wondering why he thinks he'd be bad at sex, and then sits bolt upright, staring down at Mike with round eyes. “Oh my god,” he says in a high voice. “Libido suppressants. I'm a _moron_. You've never done this before!”

“Uh.” Mike blinks, leaning up on his elbows. “I mean. Yeah, no. You'd know, buddy.”

Chuck frowns at him, running that one through from a few different angles. It still doesn't make sense. “I'm not part-incubus, Mike, I don't have your sex senses, or a virgin detector or whatever you're thinking.”

Mike snickers. “Oh, no, dude, I just meant, like, who else would I do this with?” He shrugs.

He seems to mean it as a rhetorical question, which is even more bizarre than the question itself. Chuck’s mouth hangs open a minute before his voice comes back online. “Almost anyone? Like, probably someone good-looking and athletic and sexy and--”

“I don't want someone athletic,” Mike says firmly. “I want you.”

Chuck’s heart seems to hiccup in his chest, and his stomach does something weird. He swallows, tries to laugh. “Well, I'm definitely not complaining that you're willing to settle, but--”

Mike’s brows snap down. “Hey, that's not what I said.” He gives Chuck a quizzical look. “When you said you wanted me, you didn't mean you were settling, did you?”

Chuck groans. “No, but dude, come on, _anyone_ would want you, okay? You're strong and confident and brave and ridiculously sexy--”

“And you're smart and fun and really sexy and you have amazing eyes and I love your voice and I--I want you.” Mike meets Chuck’s gaze for a minute before his eyes drop and he smiles a little. “Been a long time since I could feel it, but I do.” He looks up again and shrugs a shoulder. “Anyway, it makes as much sense as you wanting me.”

“It--it really doesn't,” Chuck says. His chest is filled with a strange fluttering almost like panic, but warmer, softer, sweeter. He wants to disbelieve it, this is completely impossible, but with those dark eyes fixed on his, he can't quite manage it.

 _I love your voice_. His mouth tugs up helplessly at the corners. “Oh my god, Mikey.”

Mike grins at him and relaxes. “So, you wanna show me how to get this stuff right?”

“I'm not sure you need the help,” Chuck mutters.

“Aw, come on, dude,” Mike protests, half laughing, “I don't even know what I'm doing!”

Chuck eyes him dubiously, then sighs. Chuck hasn't had _that_ much sex; techies may be oversexed, but the adults don't mess around with the kids, and there weren't that many people close to Chuck’s age. At least he knows more than the basics, enough to have a chance of impressing Mike. ...Assuming that the usual stuff will work with an incubus messed up by libido suppressants.

“How do you feel? Can you sit up?”

Mike tries to push himself up from his elbows to sit, reaches the halfway point and reels dizzily, barely catching himself as he tips over sideways. “Uh, guess not. Hey, buddy, you got any water? I'm just about thirsty enough to go vamp.”

Chuck snorts and digs out a bottle of water from the satchel, then pulls out the blanket while Mike drinks, propped up on one elbow. Spreading out the blanket on the area Mike cleared, Chuck glances around the little room. For a ruin, it's not that bad, but he'd still rather Mike not be naked on the floor.

They get Mike rolled onto the blanket and Chuck tugs his cadet-issue boots off, then pulls off his uniform pants, too, with a glance for permission. “God, bro,” he sighs, setting the clothes with Mike’s dropped uniform shirt. “You're unfairly gorgeous, you know that?”

“Says you, with those big pretty eyes,” Mike says, and bites his lip. “Hey,” he says in a much softer voice. “I missed you.”

Chuck puts a hand on Mike’s chest, swallowing. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

“I guess it's a little weird right now, but c-can I get a hug?”

On the one hand, naked Mike-hugs will definitely be awkward, especially when he and Chuck are both still hard. On the other, sex is already happening anyway, and Chuck missed Mike a lot, and yeah, who cares if it's awkward.

“Yeah, bro,” Chuck says, leaning down. “No problem.”

Mike’s arms come around him hard enough to make Chuck huff, and he wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders and definitely does not cling, curled beside him on the blanket. He's just holding on really firmly, is all. About as firmly as Mike is holding him, which is to say, as if Security might arrive to drag them apart at any moment.

“God,” Mike mutters into Chuck’s shoulder. “It sucked, not havin’ you around. I missed you so bad. I tried not to think about it, but it never really went away, I guess.”

Chuck sighs. “I'm sorry. It just… it really hurt, having you pick the rules over me. Cutting you off sucked, but I didn't know what else to do.” He's not going to say that part of him wanted to hurt Mike like Mike had hurt him. The problem was that Mike hadn't done it on purpose, wasn't trying to be mean or a jerk, and after the first couple messages he'd left, the unhappy look on his face started to be more distressing than satisfying.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Mike says, finally loosening his grip. Chuck keeps an arm around his shoulders and leans back to see his face.

“Oh,” Mike says, “I did what you said, though! You wanted me to, like, question orders, ‘not obey blindly’, that's what you said, and… well, I did.” His face changes, mouth tightening. “I went against a direct order. Jenzen’s got the promotion now, though he didn't look that happy about it. Wonder if… Kane will let him keep it.”

Chuck hears the absence where ‘Mister’ would have been and keeps staring at Mike. He's trying to imagine what kind of order would've been bad enough for Mike to disobey, and it's not a good thought.

“What happened?” he says after a minute.

Mike doesn't answer immediately, the hand still on Chuck’s back flexing, relaxing, flexing. He lets out a long breath. “I got promoted this morning,” he says heavily, and goes on to tell Chuck what came next, speaking in short, clipped phrases.

“So the tenants are all okay,” Mike finishes, low-voiced, “I mean, they're safe, they made it, even the sick family, but… they still lost their homes. Jenzen wouldn't help, he didn't care."

Chuck is--he's listening, he is--but he's also really preoccupied with the part where Mike walked right by the _armed Elites_ with his arms full of kids (because of course. Of course he did, of course frickin Mike Chilton was out there rescuing babies). They could have captured Mike and dragged him back to rot in a detention cell, they could have _shot_ him, he could have _died_.

"I couldn't stop it,” Mike says, more quietly. He's all tucked into himself, curled in small and un-Mikelike, talking low like he's confessing something shameful.

It gets Chuck’s attention, pulls him back from freaking out over what could've happened and didn't. He leans over and hugs Mike again, chest warm and tight with mingled dismay and relief. “You did what you could, bro.”

Mike hugs him back, but his shoulders are still tight. Chuck pulls away and Mike’s face is closed and hard, his eyes distant.

Chuck hesitates, nibbling his lip. What happened sucks, but it's a long way from the worst thing Kane has tried to do down here. Motorcitizens are used to being resilient, picking themselves up and going on with what they've got. Mike doesn't have the context to know any of that yet, though.

“It wasn't your fault,” Chuck points out. “As soon as you found out what was going on, you tried to fix it.”

“If I had just listened to you in the first place,” Mike starts, and Chuck cuts him off.

“You'd probably have been out of the Cadets a long time ago, and you wouldn't have been on the mission today, so you couldn't have helped those people.”

Mike stares at him and Chuck can see him going over the chain of logic. “I wouldn't have had to leave the Cadets.”

“You're not that good at acting, Mikey,” Chuck says. “Unless that's changed, they would've realized that you didn't approve of Kane’s agenda, and even if they didn't throw you out, you would never have been sent on a mission like this.”

Mike’s mouth opens and then closes after a minute.

“You did the best you could,” Chuck says. “I mean, _I'm_ impressed. You did good, okay? Kane’s the one who should be feeling guilty about this, not you.”

Mike gives him another unhappy half-smile. “I don't think he's gonna bother, buddy.”

“Yeah, well, that's on him too,” Chuck says firmly, and then, because he wants to wipe the grim look off Mike’s face, and because he's almost sure Mike won't mind or be mad, and because he really wants to, he leans down and kisses Mike.

Mike makes a startled noise and then a quiet, pleased hum, and clumsily tries to kiss back. He gets better remarkably fast, and suddenly the kiss is a lot hotter than Chuck expected. He can't help but wonder if incubi have an advantage in picking up sex-related skills.

Despite the serious topic of conversation and the downturn in the mood, Chuck’s dick is just as hard as it was when he first walked in, and it's starting to ache. Obviously incubus powers have their advantages and disadvantages. He's not actually sure which one this is. Possibly both.

Mike breaks the kiss, panting, and gives Chuck a hot-eyed look. “You wanna lose some clothes, dude?”

Chuck hesitates. “You don't really want--”

“I definitely want to see you naked, Chuckles. That's totally a thing I want.” Mike watches him, the dark pools of his pupils glinting green every time his head moves. “Please?”

Looking at the expanse of smooth golden-brown skin over rippling muscle that is Mike’s entire frickin’ body, Chuck kind of wants to hide under _more_ layers, not take off what he's wearing. Mike has probably forgotten people as skinny and bony as Chuck exist, since he's only been getting naked with other cadets in the locker rooms.

“I'll take my shirt off,” he mumbles.

“Great!” Mike says, grinning.

Chuck reluctantly peels his shirt over his head and drops it on top of Mike’s clothes. Mike's gaze sweeps over his skin, intense and unnerving. Under that look, Chuck wants to cover himself up again, but when he crosses his arms over his chest and huddles into himself Mike makes a protesting noise.

“Dude, come on, let me see! You look amazing, buddy, don't hide.”

“I don't look amazing, oh my god, Mike, come on!” Chuck sweeps an exasperated hand down his skinny frame. “I look like a bony nerd with way too many freckles and no muscle!”

Mike leans up on one elbow. “You look,” he says, drifting a hand down Chuck’s chest to his stomach, really close to his dick, “really, really sexy. I love the way you look, and your freckles are really cute, dude, don't even. C’mere,” he adds, and tugs Chuck into another kiss before he can argue with any of the inaccuracies.

By the time Mike lets him go again, Chuck is moaning and whimpering against his mouth and wondering who’s supposed to be the virgin here, anyway. Mike is moaning softly too, though, so at least he's not alone.

Then Chuck takes a closer look and realizes the tight, pained look is back on Mike’s face. “Crap, I'm sorry, I should’ve done something before this, I--”

“I got distracted, too, dude,” Mike says, hand shifting restlessly over Chuck’s ribs, his stomach, up to rub over a nipple, making him yelp. “Yeah,” Mike breathes. “Hey, can I--?”

“Whatever you want, Mikey,” Chuck gasps, twitching as Mike flicks a finger back and forth over the nipple.

“Awesome,” Mike says, and tugs him down to lie on his back. Then instead of playing with his nipples like Chuck kind of expected, Mike slides his hand down to wrap around Chuck’s dick.

This time Chuck doesn't come instantly, either because Mike’s hungry but no longer starving or because he's trying something different. Mike strokes him, uncertainly at first, then with growing confidence as Chuck bucks into it and pants and moans. Chuck kind of thinks he still comes earlier than he would've if Mike wasn't drawing it out of him somehow, but given that it's the second blindingly good climax he's had in the last half hour, he's not complaining.

He's lying there all boneless, dazedly pleased with life, when Mike finally lets go of Chuck’s still-hard dick, looks at the slick shine on his hand, and gives his palm a thoughtful lick. Chuck whimpers. Mike’s eyes widen and he glances at Chuck.

“You like that,” he murmurs, and _licks his hand clean_ , chasing Chuck’s taste like he can't get enough of it. Then he looks down at the mess on Chuck’s stomach and Chuck twitches all over at the intrigued look on his face.

“Omigod Mikey _no_.”

Mike frowns, but pauses. “Why not?”

“Because you've never done this before, so you're not going to be expecting how it tastes and you're probably gonna think it's kinda gross and I don't want you to not want to do this anymore--dude, I'm serious, why are you laughing?!”

“Buddy,” Mike says, grinning as he leans over for a kiss, “I've been wanting to do this for like three years, I'm not going to give up on it for something that dumb. Besides, I already tasted it a little bit on my hand, and it's fine. Come on, I'm curious, can't I try stuff out?”

Chuck groans. “Fine, but you can't blame me if you don't like it.”

Mike snorts at him like it's not a perfectly reasonable concern, leans down and flicks his tongue over a tiny patch of skin on Chuck’s stomach, cleaning off a spot of white. He goes still, and Chuck bites his lip.

“Oh,” Mike says softly, and licks again, and again, expression soft and intense at once. He's not looking at Chuck anymore, completely focused on what he's doing.

Heat sweeps over Chuck and a shiver goes through him as his dick twitches. It's not just the look on Mike’s face, or the hot wet slide of his tongue across Chuck’s skin. It's that Mike isn't doing this because he's trying to be sexy, or because he learned to before this; he's doing it just because he likes it, he wants to, and it's a complete coincidence that it’s also sexy enough to make Chuck’s head explode.

 _I've died and woken up in porn_ , Chuck thinks dizzily.

By the time Mike finishes, Chuck is panting, hips shifting restlessly. Mike raises his head, licking his lips.

“Wow,” he says.

“S-seriously?” Chuck says hoarsely. “You _like_ it?”

Mike licks his lips again. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it tastes like… food, I guess. I mean, _this_ kind of food. I didn't know it had a taste, but it does. It tastes like you, and sex, and--it's just really, really good.”

“God,” Chuck mutters. Okay, one more detail about incubi that should really not be surprising. Of course they like stuff that comes from having sex.

“Kinda makes me thirsty, though,” Mike adds. He looks around for the water bottle, leans over Chuck to grab it, and takes a long drink. Chuck blinks.

“Hey, you're sitting up! Are you less dizzy now?”

Mike looks around, stretches out an arm, leans to the side and back, and grins in delight. “Yeah! You fixed it, dude! Hey, wonder if I can--”

“Bro, I don't think--” Chuck starts, and cuts himself off with a sigh as Mike jumps to his feet and immediately sways, arms waving for balance. He has to drop back to his knees before he topples over, and slumps to lean forward on his hands, breathing harder than he should be and looking dejected.

“You've gone hungry for like, a year and a half,” Chuck points out. “It's gonna take a while to get your strength back up. I don't even know if we can do it all at once, it might take, like, days or longer.”

Mike sighs and nods. Frowning to himself, he reaches over to where Chuck dropped his shirt on top of Mike’s clothes and carefully folds it.

“I hope--are you gonna be okay with that?” he asks, eyes on his hands. “I don't want to push you into more of this than you want.”

Taking a deep breath, Chuck tries not to get his hopes up thinking about days of sex with Mike. It might not be necessary, and even if it is, Mike’s going to want to find someone better before long.

He runs a hand through his hair and sits up. “Yeah, I--I'm fine with it, but--look, you don't need that as an excuse, okay? Like I wouldn't want as much as I could get. When you're ready to move on, you can just--tell me, and it'll be fine, I promise I won't be, like, clingy or anything--”

“Wait, move on to what?” Mike says, frowning as he folds his uniform overshirt.

Chuck shoves a hand through his hair, clenches it and tugs once, just slightly. “To someone else, Mike,” he says levelly. “Someone else you want to try sex with. It's probably going to take about five minutes of having you down here before people are throwing themselves at you, you'll have plenty to pick from--”

“I don't want to pick anyone else, though,” Mike says, eyes wide and alarmed now. His hands go still in the middle of folding his pants to put them in a neat stack with the rest of his uniform. “Can't I just stick with you?”

Chuck stares at him. “Mike, there are tons of people hotter and more appealing than me down here. Once you see some of your other options, I'm not going to look very interesting anymore.”

“Dude, I thought we already talked about this,” Mike says. “You're the one I want.” He drops Chuck’s crisply folded shirt onto the clothes stack without looking away from Chuck.

“Right _now_ ,” Chuck says, trying to stay calm. “But when you meet other people--”

“You'll still be the one I want,” Mike says, brows pulling low. “Why would I want anyone else?”

“Because they'd be strong and brave and hot, like you!” Chuck says, waving his arms. “Come _on_ , dude, I know crushes can be weird sometimes, especially, I guess, ones that last years, but they go _away_ eventually, and then you find someone new to crush on, that's just how it works!”

“So, you're going to stop wanting me, is that what you're saying?” Mike says in a low voice.

“Wha--no! That's completely different, anyone sane would want you, and besides, it's--that's not a crush,” Chuck finishes awkwardly. “It doesn't go away.”

“How do you know?”

Chuck breathes out a sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Apparently until Mike is better fed, Chuck’s going to need to get used to having conversations like this while his dick is hard and throbbing quietly in the background.

“Because it doesn't feel like any of the other crushes I've had, okay?” Chuck is absolutely not going to say, _look, I think I'm in love with you_ , because he's not an idiot, and he could be wrong. He's sixteen, what the heck does he know?

“Oh,” Mike says, and frowns at his knees instead of looking pleased.

“What's up?”

Mike looks up at him, chewing on his lip. “I can't convince you, because I don't have anything else to compare this to,” he admits.

Chuck blinks at him. “What, your other crushes were that different?”

“I guess, yeah. There were a couple of people I, like, thought were good-looking, and I wanted to hang out with them, spend time together, but I never wanted to kiss them or anything like that, even before I got into the barracks. You're the only one I've ever wanted like that.”

The words don't make sense. Chuck has to keep running them through his mind, trying to make them click, because Mike did say that, even if he can't possibly mean what it sounds like.

“I'm the…” he repeats cautiously, checking he didn't hear wrong.

“You're the only one I want,” Mike says promptly. “The only one I've ever wanted.”

Chuck stares while the words roll through again. “Oh my god,” he says a long moment later. Oh, interesting, says one part of his mind, Mike is demi. Motorcity’s expanded conceptual vocabulary finally comes in handy. The rest of him is fixated on _the only one I've ever wanted_ , replaying it over and over again like it might change into something that makes sense. Holy crap, what even.

“Hey,” Mike says, giving him that uncertain smile again. “Can I kiss you some more?”

Chuck nods because why would anyone say no to that, and Mike scoots over and kisses him, soft and shallow at first, then deeper, demanding and hot. It doesn't take long before Mike is sort of wrapped around him, hard dick rubbing up against Chuck’s hip, and Chuck is moaning and whimpering into his mouth.

He catches himself just before reaching for Mike’s dick, and pulls out of the kiss, gasping. “Wait, can I touch you yet, will it still hurt?”

Mike blinks. “Oh! Right. I dunno,” he says, glancing down with a dubious look that makes Chuck wonder--

“Mikey, you--you did used to, you know, take care of yourself sometimes, right?”

Mike shrugs. “Yeah, sometimes.” He reaches down and stops, glances at Chuck. “I was just making it worse, earlier. You didn't hurt as much. Can you--?”

Chuck nods, takes a breath and runs one finger down Mike’s dick. Mike doesn't wince away, but he doesn't press into it or relax, either. God, Chuck hopes whatever’s wrong is fixable. Incubi are so weird.

“Not yet, huh?” he says.

Frowning to himself, Mike nods reluctantly. “Guess not.”

Chuck takes a chance. “But nothing else hurts, right? I mean, when I was touching you before, everything else felt good, right? So, can I touch other stuff?”

Mike gives him a bemused smile. “Sure, buddy, whatever you-- _ah!_ ”

Chuck rubs his thumbs over Mike’s nipples again and enjoys the way his neck arches, mouth coming open to gasp. He's so hot it's ridiculous.

“Oh,” Mike pants, “oh _wow_ , dude!”

Chuck grins fondly. “Surprise, bro, sex feels good for more reasons than food.”

Leaning over, he gets his mouth on Mike’s neck and experiments with kissing and sucking and nipping to see which gets the best response. It's hard to tell, though; Mike seems to like everything, although it might just be that Chuck is contaminating his data by playing with Mike’s nipples at the same time. Well, he's not about to stop when Mike makes such amazing noises, all wanting and eager.

He moves on to suck on Mike’s earlobe and jerks all over as a surge of pleasure snaps through him like an electric shock. Gasping for breath, hands going still, he pulls away to stare at Mike.

“What the heck was that?!”

“T-too much, sorry,” Mike says, breathing just as hard. “K-kinda--lost control there, I guess. Didn't mean to.”

“You lost control,” Chuck says, and breaks into a slow grin. “Dude. Are you saying I made you feel so good you couldn't control your power?”

Mike ducks his head like that's not a good thing. “I'm not--I never felt it before, I don't have much practice. Sorry. I'm trying, though.”

Aw, crap, Chuck somehow forgot where Mike would be coming from about having and controlling powers. He's just down from Deluxe, of course he's worried about it. Chuck is just opening his mouth to say something reassuring when Mike keeps talking.

“I mean, it seems like it just wants to make you come over and over until I'm satisfied, but I don't think you'd like that as much, so I'm trying to hold it back, you know?”

Chuck swallows hard. “Oh my god,” he says faintly.

“So, it wanted to make you come, but I caught it in time,” Mike goes on, and gives him an anxious look. “You're--it's okay, right? I'm trying, I'll get better at it--”

“Mikey, it's _fine_ , geez, relax,” Chuck says, stroking Mike's back. “I'm meta too, remember, I'm not going to be freaked out about you using your powers, especially because, I mean, it's _sex_ , it's not like you're trying to mess with my head or anything. Look, that felt _good_ , okay, I liked it!”

“Okay,” Mike says, dark eyes fixed on Chuck’s, and slowly relaxes.

“Okay,” Chuck says, nodding firmly. “So, um, did that happen because you were feeling good and got distracted, or because you need another meal, or what?”

“Yes?” Mike says with a sheepish grin. “And also, uh, it's weird to feel good when you're not yet, so, like, I guess it was trying to even it out.”

“Huh,” Chuck says. Incubi are _so weird_. “Okay, so, uh, should I--” he starts, reaching for his dick.

Mike grabs his wrist. “Wait! Sorry, um, can I?”

“Dude, whatever you need,” Chuck says, like he's the one doing Mike a favor, like it's not incredible that he's the one (the only one, holy crap) Mike wants to do this with.

“Really? This might be weird,” Mike warns him.

Chuck gives him a quizzical look. “What are you thinking about?”

Mike licks his lips. “I want, um, my mouth on you.”

Chuck has to take a deep breath to keep from giggling hysterically. Of _course_ Mike’s got no idea about this stuff, he's probably never even seen any porn. He doesn't have a clue what’s tame and what's kinky, he's just trying things out as he thinks of them.

“Most people think that's a pretty good thing, bro,” Chuck says in a voice that's almost steady. “Not weird at all.”

“Oh. Cool!” Mike says, and curls down to Chuck’s lap with his mouth open.

Chuck’s hands land on his head, patting and stroking and desperately trying not to grab his hair and pull him down harder. Mike licks and sucks and makes little pleased hungry noises and it's incredibly hot and nothing close to enough. He's just--tasting, learning, trying what feels good, and he has no idea what he's doing, so of course it's not quite satisfying, the guy doesn't even know blow jobs _exist_.

And then he wraps his lips around the head and sucks, and Chuck honestly can't tell if the pleasure abruptly flowing through him, building until he's shaking, is from the sensation by itself or if Mike’s power is helping it along. He thinks it's Mike’s power, but either way it feels amazing and he's not about to complain.

Mike slides more of Chuck’s dick into his mouth, and a little more, then pulls back and makes an annoyed noise. Okay, Chuck thinks vaguely, so incubi still have a gag reflex. Good thing he didn't choke himself testing it.

Mike sucks again and this time Chuck _feels_ the power lash through him, an electric whipcrack of pleasure across his nerve endings that slams him into orgasm like running into a brick wall.

It takes a little while to get back some kind of coherent thought after that one. He comes back to find himself whimpering and tugging weakly at Mike as he licks thoughtfully at Chuck’s oh-god- _still_ -hard dick.

“Ah, oh my god, bro, _nnh!_ You can stop now!”

“Mm,” Mike says, and kind of shakes himself and pulls away. “Sorry,” he says, sitting up. “You just--you taste really good. Smell good, too. I just kinda want to lick you all over.”

“Aha oh god,” Chuck says, clutching at his own knees. For the first time he wonders if maybe feeding a starved incubus all by yourself could be a health hazard.

Mike narrows his eyes, leans in and licks the middle of Chuck’s bare chest, just a little flick of his tongue with no power behind it, Chuck realizes a second later when his heart starts beating again. Another climax right now might just kill him. Good thing Mike decided to go easy on him in the first place.

“Yeah,” Mike says, pulling back. “You taste good all over. That's weird. Isn't it? Or--I guess it's not normal to lick people. So _I'm_ being weird.” He huffs and rumples his hair with one hand. “Sorry.”

Chuck puts a hand on Mike's shoulder. “You're not being weird,” he manages, voice still a little shaky, “you're just doing incubus stuff. That's _okay_ , Mikey. You don't have to pretend to be human anymore. I mean, I don't know _why_ I--my skin would taste particularly good right now--” He stops, mind rattling through the data. “There's several possibilities, actually,” he goes on slowly, intrigued. “It could just be that I'm the person feeding you right now, so I'm beginning to register as, um, tasty in general. Or it could be that I'm metahuman too--although no, there's no way to test if you feed better or differently off humans right now, forget that. But it could also be the, like, hormones and sex chemicals in my sweat, I bet that'd be pretty appealing to an incubus.”

Mike nods, but he still looks kind of preoccupied--or bored, more likely, Chuck should know better than to go into theorizing about things when no one else cares about ‘why’ like he does. He swallows.

“Sorry, um. So, how do you feel now?”

Mike gives him a quick smile. “Better, definitely. It keeps getting better.” Then the line between his brows comes back. “I just--I must be doing something wrong, but I don't know what.”

“I think you're doing fine, dude,” Chuck says, and then realizes when Mike gives him a distracted half-smile in response, “Oh. You don't mean, like, a sex thing with me. You mean an incubus thing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mike sighs. “I mean, it's fine! It's not really a problem, it's just kind of frustrating. I'm still getting plenty, I just can't seem to get it _all_.”

“Get all what?” Chuck asks.

“The--the stuff, the energy you give off when you come,” Mike says, waving his hands. “I'm _used_ to only getting part of it, that's how it's always worked, but I'm hungry and I can still feel some of it flowing off me, sliding away, and it's just--really annoying.”

Chuck has no idea what might help an incubus with feeding issues. “That sucks,” he says. “Any idea what might, like, be missing?”

Mike frowns, less frustrated and more thoughtful now. “Touching you was better than you doing it on your own, and you coming in my mouth was better than in my hand…”

Chuck’s face burns, and he has to focus not to make squeaking noises, but he breathes in through his nose and manages not to die.

“I thought my mouth would work,” Mike goes on, oblivious, “because that's more--connected, sort of, closer than me just jacking you off--”

And Chuck’s brain will absolutely be replaying Mike’s voice saying these things at all kinds of unexpected moments in the future, he can tell.

“--but I don't know, maybe I couldn't get it far enough in. Maybe you're too big, buddy,” he adds with a smile that has a definite smirkish quality to it, oh _god_.

Chuck stares at him, trying not to choke on his tongue. He's not big, he's almost sure he's a pretty average size, but that Mike would even joke about that is _uh okay wow!_ Weirdly flattering? And incredibly embarrassing at the same time?

“Ahaha _gkh!_ ” he says.

Mike's smile softens affectionately. “Anyway,” he says, shrugging, “it's not a big deal, it's just--annoying. To be missing some of it.”

Swallowing, Chuck takes a breath and tries to ignore the little voice that's still shrieking and flailing in pleased embarrassment at the back of his mind. “I bet,” he says, only a little squeaky. “Um. Okay, so, to get more of it, you need a better… connection?” Wow he does _not_ need to be thinking about other ways to be _in Mike_ just now, there are so many other things that might work fine.

Mike nods. “If I could just figure out how not to choke--”

“I don't think that's necessary!” Chuck says, rather shrilly, because his head will catch on fire if he thinks about Mike trying to deepthroat him.

“Okay,” Mike says, slightly puzzled. “So, you know all this kind of stuff, right, buddy? What can we try that'd work better?”

All this kind of stuff. Yes, sure, Chuck is absolutely an expert on sex, no problem! Oh boy. ...Compared to Mike he kind of is, though. He's tried some stuff out, and he's seen plenty of porn, and if Mike wants to know what different kinds of sex they can try, Chuck definitely has ideas. Possibly wrong and bad ideas to even suggest to a virgin, some of them, but ideas!

Chuck takes a deep breath. “Do you think you'll know if something will work when you hear it, or do we have to just try things?”

“I might know?” Mike says, frowning. “Run some ideas by me, I'll just pick one if none of them sound likely.”

Chuck swallows. “Okay. Um. If, uh, added connection would help, we could try a sixty-nine.” He looks at Mike’s blank expression and smiles a little, nibbling his lip. “That's where you suck my dick while I'm sucking yours.”

Mike’s eyes widen and he looks intrigued. “Huh.” Then, reluctantly, he shakes his head. “Might work a little better, but, uh, not the way it feels right now.”

“Right.” Not when his dick doesn't want to be touched at all, no, not going to work. “Okay, uh--you don't think more skin contact would help, do you? I could try, um, holding you, rubbing off on your hip or between your thighs or something.”

Mike shakes his head. “Sounds like fun,” he offers, “but not…”

“Not enough, yeah. Okay.” Chuck gives in. It's not like he's going to be able to think of any other options until he spits this one out and gets it turned down and out of the way. “You probably don't want to try full on penetration; that's kind of, uh, advanced for your first time.”

“Hey, I learn quick,” Mike says. “And full on sounds better than what we've got so far. What's that like?”

Face probably permanently scarlet at this point, Chuck explains, and watches Mike get more and more intent and excited.

“So you'd be in me,” he says, eyes on Chuck. “Like, a lot more _in_ than I can manage the other way--dude, that could work! We should try that one!”

“Oh god,” Chuck mumbles, rubbing his face with both hands. He's a terrible person, because Mike has no idea what it's going to feel like, Chuck could hurt him way too easily and this is _not_ what you're supposed to do with someone for their first time and Chuck is absolutely going to do it anyway. Partly because he just can't turn Mike down, but partly because this is a particularly amazing guilty fantasy coming to life and he'd have to be a way stronger person to refuse it.

“Okay,” he says, looking at Mike. “Okay, we can try that. But you have to tell me if something hurts or doesn't feel good, or if you want to stop, or anything. Okay?”

Mike shrugs. “Sure, buddy. Don't think I'm gonna want to stop, unless it doesn't seem like it's helping--and actually, even if it doesn't, it sounds kinda… interesting,” he adds, looking down at Chuck’s dick and shifting a little in a way that makes Chuck newly aware that _yes wow hi_ Mike is naked and turned on.

“But I'll let you know, dude, don't worry,” Mike finishes, smiling at him.

“Okay,” Chuck says, breathing out, and turns to the satchel to get the lube and a condom.

“Hey,” Mike says, “does this mean you'll get naked?”

He sounds so hopeful that Chuck looks back at him, sees the matching hopeful expression and can't help laughing. “Oh my god, bro,” he snickers. “You've got to be the only person ever who'd sound that excited about it. Yes, geez.”

“Awesome,” Mike says, grinning. “And hey, that can't be right, unless nobody in R&D has any sense.”

Chuck snorts. People in R&D liked to see a little skin during sex, sure, but it wasn't because anyone thought Chuck was particularly good-looking. “Whatever, Mikey. Okay, lie down.”

Mike flops onto his back and watches hungrily as Chuck gets the rest of his clothes off. Then Chuck pushes Mike’s legs up and spread, knees bent, and gets a little breathless because holy _shit_ , he's going to _fuck Mike_ and Mike _wants_ him to.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, and presses a kiss to the inside of Mike's thigh.

He wishes he could suck Mike off to distract and relax him while Chuck’s getting him ready, but since there’s some incubus-y issue with Mike’s dick right now, Chuck just takes it slow and plays with Mike’s nipples with one hand while the other opens him up. Judging by the sounds Mike makes, it seems to work.

Chuck has done this like, twice before, which is nowhere near enough to be confident about his technique. Mike doesn't seem to notice any problems, though, eyes wide as he moans and arches and pushes back against Chuck’s hand. Chuck is pretty sure it's the hungry incubus thing and not any particular talent on his part, but he still can't help being a little smug, in a stunned sort of way.

Mike is wiggling and groaning impatiently long before Chuck thinks he's ready, which wouldn't be a problem if he just bitched at Chuck, but he starts _pleading_. Of all the things Chuck was ready for when he came out here, Mike begging Chuck to fuck him was not something he'd even contemplated as a possibility.

“Please, Chuckles, come on, stop teasing, please? I already want you, okay, I don't think I can want you _more_ , just please--”

 _God._ “I'm not teasing you, dude,” Chuck says, voice almost steady and only a little breathless. “If I don't wanna hurt you, I've got to take a little time to get you ready first, especially since you've never done this before. I can't just shove in--”

“Okay but aren't I ready now?” Mike gasps, hips twitching into Chuck’s touch. “Please? Please, buddy, just do it, I'm gonna lose it here, _please_.”

“Oh my god,” Chuck says helplessly, pulling his fingers out and scrambling to get a condom on. “Okay, Mikey, but if it hurts you have to tell me, okay?” He locks eyes with Mike, glaring at the impatient huff and nod. “I'm serious. If I hurt you with my dick, I might just put the dang thing in retirement.”

Mike actually groans like it's a real threat. “Oh geez, no, don't do that, dude. I promise, okay, now please?”

Chuck sucks in a hard breath. “Okay.” He bites his lip, hooks his arms under Mike’s knees, and hauls Mike’s lower half into his lap, getting a startled noise. Mike stares at him, then grins, and suddenly his legs wrap around Chuck, ankles linking behind him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded and hungry, “let's do this.”

Chuck swallows, grabs Mike’s hips, and tries to push into him gently. He remembers it feeling unsettling, his first time in Mike’s place, and he wants it to be better for Mike.

Mike’s eyes get round and his face doesn't tighten like it hurts, he just keeps gasping and arching, feet pulling against Chuck’s back, trying to pull him in tighter. “Oh,” he says, almost a whisper, “oh, wow, _Chuck_.”

Chuck takes a deep breath and pauses when he's in all the way. Mike is staring up at the cracked ceiling in the light from Chuck’s screen above, hands flexing in the blanket under them, panting and looking kind of dazed.

“Bro?” Chuck says, getting ready to pull out if it's too much. “You okay?”

Mike’s mouth opens and nothing comes out at first. Chuck bites his lip and starts to pull out and Mike’s legs tighten around him fast.

“No!” Mike says. “Stay. S-sorry. Just, god. You feel… so good. ‘S’just. Hard to concentrate.”

Chuck blinks. “I'm not even doing anything yet!” he says, voice cracking a little because _god_ , Mike is _so hot_.

Mike gives him a breathless smile. “Yeah, but I can _feel_ you, dude, you're amazing, like the best thing I've ever felt. You're all…” His hand lifts into the air, curving around shapes like it can form the right words for him. “Sweet and sharp and… hot like sunlight,” he says slowly, eyes not quite focused. “And you _like_ me, and you _want_ me, and it's just--it's so good, buddy, it's incredible.”

He smiles up at Chuck again and Chuck stares back open-mouthed. He thought he'd realized by this time that sex with an incubus was going to be different, but he was not prepared for either this level of unequivocal delight or weird metaphorical descriptions, and he has no idea how to respond.

“So, uh, it's working, then?” he says.

Mike arches his neck and hums like a purr. “Yeah. Bet it'll work even better when you start moving,” he says, and his muscles tighten around Chuck’s dick, getting a choked noise out of him.

“God,” he says through his teeth, and tightens his grip on Mike’s hips to draw back and push in again a lot less carefully than he probably should. Mike just moans like he loves it, arms braced on the floor for leverage to move into Chuck’s thrusts. Chuck should be holding back, being careful, Mike is a _virgin_ for grief’s sake, he's never done this before--but up against Mike Chilton going after something he wants, ‘careful’ doesn't stand a chance.

As Chuck slams into Mike, who eagerly takes it, it occurs to him again dazedly that this is definitely porn: one of the subversive pornos they make down here, where some well-built Motorcity guy ends up roughly giving it to a cadet. The difference, besides the top being a skinny techie, being that Mike isn't ashamed or pretending to struggle or anything except really openly delighted about this.

“Chuck, yeah, feel so good,” he pants. “So-- _mmh_ \--amazing. God, you're so good at this...”

Chuck gulps, heat streaking up his spine. Also, of course, despite the fact that he was literally begging Chuck to fuck him a little while ago, Mike isn't some ordinary porn guy. He's a sweet, earnest, utterly gorgeous dork, and Chuck has no frickin’ defenses against him at all.

By the time he’s bent Mike in half on the blanket to pound into him hard and fast, wringing these gorgeous shaky moans and cries out of him, it's all Chuck can do to remember that Mike should come first. Taking care of your partner before yourself is the polite way. That's hard to keep in mind with that steady thrum of pleasure under his skin getting more and more intense, Mike’s power slipping through him, pulling him toward the edge faster than he's ready for.

“Mikey,” he gasps, “you getting close?”

“ _Nnh_ , god… Uh, dunno,” Mike says, blinking up at him.

Chuck groans through his teeth. “Then can you stop doing the thing? Your power,” he manages. “I can't--you gotta finish first.”

“I--what? Why?” Mike looks dismayed. “Dunno if-- _ah_ \--’f I can.”

Chuck _knows_ it's not because he's not doing a good job, not with the blissful look that's been on Mike’s face this whole time. It must be an incubus thing. He bites his lip, trying to keep control.

“Okay,” he says, voice strained, “so what do you need?”

“Need you to come,” Mike says immediately, reaching up to touch Chuck’s lips with unsteady fingers. A shock of pleasure jolts through him, almost tipping him over the edge.

Whimpering at the back of his throat, he tries to slow down, get enough control to discuss this, figure out if it's really okay to let go, but Mike whines under him, bucking up in protest, and Chuck can't hold on anymore.

“Yeah,” Mike says, low and sweet as Chuck’s hips stutter and jerk, driving gracelessly into him, “that's it, Chuckles. Give it to me.”

It comes rolling up from the base of Chuck’s spine and sweeps through him, bowls him over and shatters him. He shudders through it and ends boneless and quivering, braced over Mike on shaky limbs.

“Oh,” Mike breathes, and when Chuck opens his eyes Mike is staring open-mouthed, eyes getting wider and wider. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again, and his back arches, he catches his breath and moans, hips jerking and bucking, and god, Chuck is _still hard_ in him and draws a rough breath through his teeth as Mike pushes back against him.

“Oh _god_ ,” Mike says, wild-eyed, clawing at the blanket, and Chuck bites his lip and thrusts into him experimentally. Mike cries out, back curving so fiercely only his shoulders are left on the blanket.

That's pretty clear. Chuck sits up, grabs Mike’s hips, and pumps into him in a quick, steady rhythm. Mike lets out gasps and whimpers and cries, twisting and writhing under Chuck, and when he comes a second later, the sound he makes is close to a scream.

Breathing hard, Chuck holds him until Mike stops shivering through aftershocks and goes limp on the blanket. Then, very carefully, he starts to pull out.

Mike makes a protesting noise and grabs for him.

Chuck stops, grimacing slightly. He doesn't _hurt_ exactly, but his dick is definitely oversensitive and would like a break. He pulls in a rough breath.

“What's up, bro? Is it gonna hurt you if I, uh…”

“Oh, no,” Mike says, letting go of Chuck’s arm. “It just--feels really good, sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

Chuck swallows and finishes pulling out instead of letting himself think about that. He deals with the condom and cleans them both up, and then stalls out, looking down at Mike all sprawling and sleepy-eyed and smiling at him. God, it's unfair how gorgeous the guy is.

“Hey,” Mike says softly. “Wanna come down here and kiss me some more?”

Chuck definitely wants to do that, so he does. Mike twines around him, just holding him close, kissing slow and gentle, unhurried. It's really, really nice.

Chuck does his best to enjoy the moment instead of worrying about potential weird side effects from having apparently involuntary incubus powers used on him. He's been hard kind of a long time now, through multiple orgasms, and even the fact that it doesn't ache like it should isn't comforting. He has no idea if Mike’s power is somehow blocking the pain, which is still there because pain signals there's a problem, or if it's preventing there from being a problem at all, or--okay, he's _trying_ not to worry, he's just not very good at it.

“Geez,” Mike says after a while, smiling into his eyes. “That was amazing, buddy.”

Chuck’s face heats, because sure, obviously after all the sex they just had, blushing because Mike says he liked it makes perfect sense. “Good,” he mumbles. “Um. Still not, uh, you still need more, though, right?” He glances down at his hard-on, noticing that Mike, at least, went soft after orgasm. Maybe it makes sense that his power is only keeping Chuck hard, but it definitely seems weird and unfair. Incubi, geez.

“I…” Mike blinks and goes quiet a moment, gaze inward. “I feel a lot better,” he offers. “But yeah, still--still really hungry.” He sighs, eyes uncertain on Chuck.

“It's fine, bro,” Chuck says, because Mike isn't doing it on purpose, he shouldn't have to look all worried. “It's not like I mind the sex.”

Mike relaxes into a smile. “The last time worked a lot better, I think I got it all.” He closes his eyes and his body shifts against Chuck, languorous and pleased.

Chuck swallows, heat sliding up his spine. “Oh. Good. S-so, you, uh…”

“Can we do that again? Like, a lot more?”

Chuck’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god,” he says, and hopes it doesn't sound as much like a whimper as he thinks.

Mike’s smile turns delighted. “Oh wow,” he says. “You really like that. That's great!”

“No it's _not!_ ” Chuck groans, dropping his forehead to Mike’s shoulder. “I shouldn't even be _doing_ this with a virgin, I'm completely taking advantage of you!”

“Taking advantage of me... by doing what I need, to feed me?” Mike says dubiously. “By, like, coming out here as soon as I called and helping me? Yeah, sure, you're definitely the one taking advantage in this situation.”

“I already said I wanted to--”

“And so do I!” Mike says. “I never thought I'd be able to kiss you, but now I can and it's really good, and I really, really like this, okay? Look, if… if it bothers you that I hadn't done this stuff before, then I'm sorry, but--”

“Oh my _god_ , Mikey, no!” Well, yes. Sort of. It's insanely hot and makes Chuck feel guilty at the same time. Except that maybe, if he's the only one Mike wants, he shouldn't feel guilty. Even if there was someone better, Mike wouldn't pick them.

He sighs, nibbling on his lip. “No, it doesn't bother me, okay? It's--I just don't know how I got this lucky, is all.”

“Oh, haha, that's easy!” Mike says, grinning. “Same way I did; cuz that's just how luck works!”

Chuck snorts, but can't help grinning back. “Thanks, dude, that's very helpful.”

“I'm the helpfullest,” Mike tells him solemnly.

“Oh my god,” Chuck snickers, “that's not even a word. You sound like Texas.” He leans in and kisses Mike again.

“Who's Texas?” Mike says when he pulls back to breathe, and Chuck groans a little because it's his own fault for mentioning the guy, but he really doesn't want to think about Texas right now.

“He's this guy,” he says, flailing one hand. “He comes round to see Jacob sometimes, Jacob’s helping him build a car. He's kind of dumb, and a jerk, and, uh, hey, can I touch you some more?”

Mike's eyes light up. “Yeah, definitely.”

Chuck runs both hands over Mike, plays with his nipples, teases at the insides of his thighs and the points of his ears, enjoying the sounds that come out of him, loud and unabashed. After a few minutes Chuck gets brave enough to put his mouth where his hands have been, sucking, licking, nipping. Mike gets even louder then, moaning Chuck’s name in amazed tones that make Chuck catch his breath. It's kind of great.

Mike gets hard again pretty fast, but Chuck just keeps playing because he can, because it's fun (because some part of him still can't believe this is real, he's really allowed to touch Mike, Mike really wants him). Sucking on Mike’s earlobes gets some beautiful desperate noises, and when Chuck tugs one with his teeth Mike’s whole body jerks.

Pleasure slips up Chuck’s spine, throbs pointedly between his legs. Probably the incubus-power version of ‘get on with it already’.

Chuck lifts his head as Mike gasps for breath under him. “You want me to--?” Chuck says.

“Yes!” Mike moans. “God, yes, please, again.” He curls his legs up to his chest, encouraging, and Chuck makes a thin whining noise and scrambles.

He fumbles another condom on, slicks up again and carefully pushes back in, hands on the undersides of Mike’s thighs. Mike’s eyes go half-lidded with contented pleasure.

“God, Chuck,” he sighs as Chuck starts to move. “You feel so good. Love this, just wanna keep you here, in me, for like, a week. Or forever, that'd be good.”

“Oh my god,” Chuck says hoarsely, and his hips speed up faster than he meant to go yet.

Mike keeps talking, keeps saying unlikely, insanely hot things, his voice broken by gasps and moans and cries. Chuck whimpers, braced over him, hips working, Mike’s power surging through him unchecked. He can't last long like this. It's a good thing Mike seems to like it that way.

“Mikey,” he pants, trying to hold on anyway, “you--you want me to--first?”

“ _Please_ ,” Mike says, legs curled around Chuck. “Please, yeah, Chuckles, come for me.”

Chuck lets out a wavering groan, thrusts going erratic, and comes a moment later. It lasts longer than it should after the climaxes he's already had, not that he's complaining.

He's just coming down, arms starting to shake under him, when the power still curled along his spine strikes, slamming through him like an electric shock, and suddenly he's coming again, muscles clenched, driving into Mike hard. Mike is purring under him, pushing up into it and gasping encouragement.

This time the orgasm barely has time to end before he's hitting another one and Chuck can't move anymore, body rigid as it shakes him. His mind is blank of everything but awareness of the unrelenting pleasure. Another wave sweeps through and he's lost count. Another, another, more following. He wonders distantly if this could kill him, but he can't even be afraid.

“Chuck!” Mike says somewhere in the distance, sounding alarmed. “Crap, I didn't--okay, hang on--”

Shuddering through his who-knows-how-manyth orgasm, Chuck pants raggedly, braced on his elbows and half-lying on Mike. The pleasure peaks and ebbs… and ends. With a faint whimper, Chuck collapses onto Mike.

“I'm sorry,” Mike says, soft and urgent, fingers brushing over Chuck’s cheek, which is oddly chilly.

Oh. His face is wet. Chuck opens his eyes, blinks a few times to clear the blur. Doesn't try to get up yet.

“I didn't mean to,” Mike says, “I just--it felt so good, and I forgot how to hold onto it, I'm really sorry--”

“Shush,” Chuck mumbles.

“Are you okay?”

“‘M fine.” He's not sure yet how he is, actually, too blitzed to tell beyond _really tired_ , but he can't deal with Mike being guilty and worried about it at the same time as figuring it out himself.

“Are you sure?” Mike says dubiously, and Chuck huffs.

“ _Yes_. Stop messing up my afterglow,” he says, or a semi-coherent mumble to that effect. It seems to be enough for Mike to relax a little, anyway, wrap his arms around Chuck and stop talking.

Chuck lies on him and breathes, and slowly his brain comes back online. That… that was amazing, and also terrifying. He couldn't stop it, couldn't think or slow down or do anything but take it. It's scarier because Mike didn't do it on purpose, that was his power taking the lead, and it only stopped when Mike finally realized and wrestled it back under control. If he hadn't noticed… well, Chuck probably would've passed out at some point, which would've tipped Mike off. So it couldn't have killed him, probably. But in hindsight it's still scary.

But. Also… _really good_. And if Mike wasn't so hungry that his power got out of control, if he did that on _purpose_ … Chuck shivers. If he had warning ahead of time, or if he maybe _asked_ Mike to do it, and could tell Mike if it got to be too much… that could be. Good, he thinks, a little dazed.

He shifts slightly and realizes he slipped out of Mike, at some point, and he's not hard anymore. His head comes up and he stares, looking Mike over.

Mike’s not hard either, and there's a slick wet patch on his stomach. That's good, Chuck was in no state to help him out until a minute ago.

“You feeling better, Mikey?” he asks.

Mike blinks wide eyes at him and nods. “Only a little hungry still, it's a lot better. I'm good.”

Chuck lets out a long sigh of relief and flops on him again, Mike going _oof!_ and laughing a little. Now that Mike isn't keeping him ready, Chuck doesn't think he could get it up again. His muscles ache, his dick is way oversensitive, and he thinks he could sleep for about a day, just fall asleep right here on Mike.

Except that he's gotta get this condom off before his dick suffocates. And also he can't fall asleep, they can't stay here overnight when Chuck doesn't know the area, doesn't know if it's safe.

He peels himself up, flings the condom into the far corner with the other one, and hands Mike a tissue to clean up. Then he ends up pulling on his shirt and underwear, uncertain and twitchy and wanting to be covered again.

“Aww,” Mike says. “Are we--is it--do we have to get dressed already?” He tenses, sitting up. “Are you really--Chuck, did I hurt you?”

“No, dude, I said,” Chuck says. “I'm fine, seriously. Just kind of, uh, done for now, I don't think I can go again.”

“That's fine,” Mike says hastily. “So long as you're okay. I can wait until tomorrow. Or, uh, next week, whenever.”

Chuck is opening his mouth to say that he doesn't think he'll have to wait _that_ long when Mike bursts out again, “I'm really, _really_ sorry!”

Chuck’s mouth snaps shut and it takes him a moment to figure out how to answer. “For what?” he says.

“For using that power on you!”

Another moment of thought. “What are you going to do about it?”

Mike shrinks a little, pulling in on himself, and Chuck feels bad, but they've got to talk this out and get Mike clear on it. “Practice until I can hold it back no matter what,” Mike says.

“Good start,” Chuck says. “But how about you practice until you can control it and use it on _purpose_ and only then? Like this,” he adds, and lets his voice resonate in its full power. “ _Listen, Mike, can you hear me?_ ”

Mike’s eyes go round, his slit pupils dilating sharply. Dazed and open-mouthed, he nods slowly.

“ _Of course you can_ ,” Chuck purrs. “ _Now, relax. Everything is okay._ ”

Mike sags, all the tension in his body visibly melting away. He smiles dreamily. “Wow,” he murmurs.

Chuck draws the power back, makes his voice normal again. “See, bro, you're okay, right?”

Mike blinks a few times before the happy dazed look fades, and then he sits up straight. “Oh,” he says startled. “Uh, yeah--Chuck, you couldn't--it never affected me before!”

“Yeah, and I was just a kid,” Chuck says. “I'm stronger now. I could make you do all kinds of things, if I wanted, but I'm not going to without asking because I'm not a jerk, and I won't by mistake because I _control_ it. That felt good, didn't it, when I told you to relax?”

Mike licks his lips and nods. “You said, before, that powers were like hands, that you can use them to hurt someone or make them feel good.”

Chuck blinks and gives a kind of shrug-nod in response, because he doesn't actually remember that, but it sounds okay. “And it's best if you're not just flailing around. Especially if you're using it for fun,” he adds, thinking of Mike’s powers and blushing. “It's better if you know how to use it with skill.”

Mike tilts his head at Chuck, smiling with a look in his eye Chuck isn't sure about at all. “So, do you know how to use it for fun?”

Chuck’s mouth drops open and he's about to stammer something about how could that not be enough sex for him when he remembers, Mike’s only come twice. Chuck is the one who's come more than one guy should really be able to in one day. He swallows.

“Uh, yeah,” he admits.

Mike leans back on his hands and Chuck’s mouth goes dry as Mike arches his back a little, abs flexing under golden-brown skin. “Wanna show me?”

 _I love your voice_ , Chuck remembers dizzily. He didn't think he meant it _this_ much.

“Okay,” he squeaks, and coughs, annoyed at himself. “I can do that,” he says more smoothly, and gives his power free play again. “ _You like it because it feels good, don't you_.”

Mike's eyelashes flutter and his neck arches as his lips part. “Yeah,” he breathes.

Chuck licks his lips, considering. He's not trying to compel, just influence, so Mike can resist anything he doesn't want to do, and Mike pretty much told him to do sexy stuff, so…

“ _You look so good like this_ ,” he says, smiling. “ _I think you should go ahead and make yourself feel even better._ ”

Mike shivers, breathing faster. “What, like…”

“ _Touch yourself for me, Mikey_ ,” Chuck says, breathless, and then remembers. “ _If it doesn't hurt_ ,” he adds hastily.

Mike raises a cautious hand to his chest, brushes fingertips over his skin, then over one nipple, and his eyes widen. “Oh,” he says, and keeps doing it.

“ _That's it,_ ” Chuck purrs. “ _Good boy_.”

Mike moans shakily, staring at Chuck.

“ _Both hands_ ,” Chuck suggests.

Closing his eyes, Mike shivers and brings his other hand up to his stomach. Chuck is amused and not at all surprised when that hand immediately edges down to curl around Mike’s hardening dick, at first cautiously, then with more confidence. He strokes carefully a couple of times, then speeds up, getting a rhythm going while his other hand rubs at his nipples.

If Chuck wasn't completely worn out, the twinge of heat would have him whimpering. As it is, he just enjoys the view.

After a moment he decides he doesn't want this going quite so fast, though. “ _Use both hands on your chest, bro_.”

Mike whines a little, but lets go of his dick to obey, hips twitching as he tugs on both nipples at once.

“ _Good_ ,” Chuck says, and Mike moans again. Chuck makes him wait a while longer, telling him _run a finger over the point of your ear, no, lighter than that, good, now touch your lips like that._ _Keep touching your nipples, Mikey, don't slack off_. After about ten minutes, Mike is whimpering in frustration and Chuck is pretty pleased with life.

“ _You're so sexy,_ ” he says. “ _You're doing so well, dude_.”

Mike moans hoarsely and for a second a sharp wave of arousal makes Chuck catch his breath. Then Mike bites his lip, frowning briefly, and it goes away. Breathing out, Chuck nods to him.

“ _That's better_ ,” he says. “ _Good job pulling it back._ ”

“Sorry,” Mike gasps.

“ _It's okay_ ,” Chuck says soothingly. “ _You're new at this, you're not gonna be perfect immediately, bro. Just keep doing your best, it's fine._ ”

Mike relaxes, but his hips are shifting restlessly, hands clumsy on his skin, and he keeps chewing on his lip. “Please,” he says after another minute. “Please, Chuck, can I…?”

“ _Hmm_ ,” Chuck hums, and Mike shivers. “ _All right, but slow._ ”

Mike grabs his dick and strokes a little too fast and Chuck raises his eyebrows.

“ _I said slow,_ ” he says in a firm tone, and Mike moans and slows right down. Chuck smiles, pleased and impressed. He can sort of feel where his influence touches Mike, where the edges of it brush lightly against him, and when he concentrates, the power curls tighter, holds Mike more firmly.

“ _You look so good,_ ” he says, focusing it, wielding it until Mike's eyes widen and his head tips back as he bucks up into his hand. “ _You're so hot, doing what I say_.”

Mike's shaking, hands unsteady, eyes round and shocked. He lets out a trembling moan, hips bucking again.

“ _What do you think?_ ” Chuck says, letting the words slide over Mike's skin, hot and coaxing. “ _Could I make you come just like this?_ ”

“Oh god,” Mike pants, “yes, I--yeah, definitely. God, Chuck.”

“ _Stop stroking,_ ” Chuck tells him. “ _Just use your fingertips, and try to sit still_.”

Mike doesn't hesitate, even though losing the firm touch makes him whimper, makes his brows pull together and his teeth set in his lip like it takes all his concentration to obey. He sits still, fingertips sliding up and down his dick, lingering just under the head and at the tip. All the while, Chuck keeps talking to him, sending shivers through him and making his lashes flutter.

Chuck has used his voice before to make it hotter when he's making out with someone, but never by itself when he's not even touching them. It's intoxicating to see the effect it has on Mike, working him up more and more, making him desperate.

“ _You've been so patient_ ,” Chuck purrs eventually. “ _Would you like to come, Mikey?_ ”

“God yes please,” Mike babbles, “please let me, dude, please, I'm going crazy here--”

“ _Shh_ ,” Chuck says, very pleased. He could live with Mike begging him for things more often, he thinks. It's pretty nice. “ _Let's see what you think of this_.”

He's going to feel really dumb if this doesn't work, but he has to try because if it does it'll be amazing. Swallowing, he shapes his intent, infuses it with all the pleasure and intensity of the chain of orgasms Mike pulled him into. Then he throws it at Mike, opening his mouth on one held note, a wordless sung command.

Mike jerks as if hit by something physical, going still. His mouth drops open, eyes going round, and he lets out a soft startled noise before curling forward, muscles tightening as he comes, shaking.

Holy shit, Chuck didn't expect it to be _instantaneous_. It takes a while for Mike to finish, too, and he doesn't stop shivering through aftershocks, one right after another, until Chuck realizes he should probably quit humming. A little guilty, a little smug, he falls silent, getting his power carefully under wraps again.

Breathing hard, Mike sits still, slowly recovering, hands braced on the blanket under him like he's feeling weak again. “Wow, dude,” he says finally, looking up with wide, amazed eyes. “I didn't know you could… that was awesome. You're really good at _all_ of this.”

His bright grin gets a sheepish return smile from Chuck, cheeks warming. “I'm glad you liked it,” Chuck says, instead of _I never tried that before, thank fuck it worked_.

“C’mere,” Mike says, and leans in for a kiss. It's nice, soft and warm, and only stops when Mike's stomach lets out a loud rumble.

Chuck pulls back, laughing as Mike stares down at his midsection in startlement. “Here, bro,” Chuck says, handing him a tissue. “Go ahead and get cleaned up, I'll see what Jacob packed for food.”

It turns out to be sandwiches, which is a relief, since Jacob’s sandwiches are much less… original than his cooking. Chuck hands them over and Mike blinks, turning the first one curiously in his hands before biting into it. Then he devours it in the time it takes Chuck to pull on his jeans.

“Dude,” Chuck says, mildly concerned. “Don't _inhale_ them, the oxygen content is negligible, okay?”

Mike snorts and sticks out his tongue, but he takes the time to chew the second one, which results in him actually tasting it, judging by the contemplative frown. “What are these?”

“Sandwiches,” Chuck says, pulling on his sneakers. “Bread slices on either side of other stuff--these are cheese, I think. Pretty different from cubes, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mike says.

“You like them?” Chuck asks.

Mike hesitates, then nods firmly. “Yeah, they're good,” he says. Like rejecting the new food might come across as weakness, wanting to go back to Deluxe, or maybe a rejection of Chuck.

“There's lots of different kinds of food down here, bro,” Chuck says, raising a screen to send Jacob a message that they'll be ready for a pickup in fifteen minutes. “If you don't like cheese sandwiches, you'll like other stuff, there's a ton of choices. I can't wait to see you taste pizza.”

“Cool,” Mike says, and Chuck thinks he relaxes some. He definitely isn't thrilled with the sandwiches; maybe Jacob put in too much mustard again.

“I think this blanket’s gonna need a run through the fresher,” Mike says ruefully when he finishes the third sandwich.

Chuck eyes the wet spots where tissues weren't enough and nods. “I'll show you how to work Jacob’s washing machine. Go on and get dressed, Jacob should be here soon.”

“Oh,” Mike says, biting his lip. “Dang. I… kinda wanted to, like, hold you some more.”

“How bout we get back to Jacob’s place and we can do that, but on a couch or something instead of on the ground?” Chuck suggests.

Mike nods after a minute, eyes on his face. “You want to?”

Chuck takes a breath, answers calmly. “I know I was the one who cut you off, but I still missed you, dude. A lot. And having sex is not actually the way to change my mind about liking you, so _yeah_. I--I want to cuddle with you too,” he finishes, flushing, and almost falls over when Mike tackles him.

“I'm so glad you still like me, Chuckles,” Mike murmurs against Chuck’s neck, clinging to him. Chuck isn't exactly complaining, and he's holding Mike pretty tight too.

“I dunno what I'd do without you,” Mike goes on, “I missed you so bad. Please d-don't--I promise I'll listen better from now on, okay? Just…”

Chuck swallows. “I won't,” he says. “I won't cut you off again, Mikey, I promise. We can disagree, we can fight, but I'm not going to stop being your friend, not again. Okay?”

Mike lifts his head, pulling back just enough to meet Chuck’s eyes. “Okay,” he says softly, and hugs Chuck tighter.

Despite Chuck’s best intentions, they're still holding each other when Jacob’s truck turns up the street.


End file.
